At their weakest
by Aussieflower
Summary: Irene's body is suddenly found in an alleyway, a year after Sherlock rescued her in Karachi. How would Sherlock react? And how would those around him react when they find him showing emotion? Irene/Sherlock, established relationship.   Reviews are love xx
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! I watched a Scandal in Belgravia again today, and whenever I do that, I feel compelled o write lots and lots of Irene/Sherlock fanfiction. **

**Anyways, this is something a little new. I've been looking for some sort of hurt/comfort fics with Sherlock and Irene, but i couldn't find any, so I wrote my own. Basically, I wanted to show how concerned Sherlock is for Irene, and that the two of them can't always be brave, controlled and emotionally detached.**

**There is an established Irene and Sherlock relationship here, but no one (except Sherlock obviously) knows that Irene is still alive.**

**Enjoy xx**

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A knife slashed through the air.

A fist connected with a face.

A needle with lethal drugs pricked the skin.

A woman cried out slightly, before there was a sickening crunch, and all went black.

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They found her, simply lying in the street. She was in an abandoned alley way, and barely anyone noticed her. Her black hair largely covered her face, her clothes were dirty, there was mud on her shoes and several cuts and bruises covering her body. A small trail of blood dotted the wall, and it was clear to the policemen that the woman had been attacked, hit, shoved against the wall, and had then been left in the narrow street to die.

Lestrade was one of the first on the scene. It wasn't necessarily his division, but he had been passing by, and had immediately called his department to assist him. They were currently on their way.

Lestrade has attempted to administer first aid, but so far the woman had shown no sign of consciousness. She was badly injured, and probably had a heavy concussion. Her clothes were torn and dirty, but they were all on however, so the DI doubted that this was a rape victim. He guessed it was more likely to be robbery, because the woman had no personal possessions on her or near her. No mobile phone, no wallet and no identification. From the clothes Lestrade supposed she might be homeless, but somehow, although she was severely injured and not in a good way, there was something about her that suggested that she had previously moved in higher circles.

Until the ambulance arrived, all the inspector could do was hold her hand and keep talking to her, in the hope that she would regain consciousness. It always saddened him to see people lie helpless and ignored like this, as victims of crimes.

Lestrade flipped open his phone, impatiently checking to see if Donovan had called him to account for the time it was taking her to get here. There was nothing.

He sighed, and was about to continue talking to the woman when he heard a very familiar voice.

" -I don't care if you think it's kinder; you cannot just tell the waitress that her brother is having an affair with her own boyfriend! "

It was John. And judging from the context of what he was saying, Sherlock was probably with him. Sure enough, Lestrade could hear Sherlock's irritated voice.

"I was trying to save her time! Now she can move on with her life!"

The DI was certain that John was currently rolling his eyes. "Hell" he said, exasperated. "Sherlock, tell me, have you ever heard of tact?"

"Sherlock!" Lestrade called, when the two of them finally came into view. They both turned around, squinting in the darkness.

"I found a body, not dead but conscious" Lestrade continued, as the pair came into view. "She's been beaten and possibly drugged; I'm waiting for an ambulance. It might be one of the homeless people always roaming about here."

Sherlock was in front of John and had a closer view. His eyes widened slightly, and a small gasp left his mouth. Lestrade's head shot up at the sign of emotion coming from Sherlock.

John immediately made to rush over to the body, wanting, as a doctor, to help, but Sherlock beat him to it. Before John had even managed to take a step, Sherlock was already at her side, holding her hand, having pushed Lestrade away.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade began in question, staring at the detective. He was sitting on his knees, firmly grasping the woman's hand, and gently brushing the hair out of her face. He looked shocked, and … dare Lestrade say it… scared? He was murmuring to her gently, his voice too quiet for Lestrade or John to identify what he was saying, but there was emotion in his tone. The DI briefly considered taking out his phone to film the scene, but dismissed the thought, knowing that the woman's life was at stake.

John stood gaping at the woman for a few seconds. Sherlock had brushed the hair out of her face, which made her facial features strikingly clear to him, even with the numerous wounds covering the skin.

"John!" Sherlock said loudly, needing the doctor's help _now_. John took a precious second to collect himself, and immediately knelt down next to Sherlock.

"I think she has concussion" he said quietly. "She looks starved and dehydrated…she's probably been kept somewhere for at least a few days." He cleared his throat, wondering whether he should make his statements gentler, for Sherlock's sake. He cleared his throat, deciding that it was better to get it over with. "She's been abused" he said quietly, "and very possibly injected with some sort of drug." He gently eased back the sleeve of her shirt to look at her arm, and could see the tiny puncture marks. He nodded in confirmation.

Sherlock barely moved from his spot on the ground, but continued talking to Irene in a calm voice. He was pleased that his voice was still level, because he was scared and furious on the inside. Irene looked horrible, and he agreed with John's suspicion that she had been imprisoned somewhere for at least a few days. He couldn't believe that anyone would do this, and rage and protectiveness bubbled inside him like molten lava, threatening to spill over.

"Who is she?" Lestrade asked John quietly as the two of them watched Sherlock. John sighed.

"Irene Adler" he replied, hoping that Sherlock wouldn't be mad at him for divulging her real name. "I thought she was dead" he added, sighing. Sherlock had apparently managed to fool him again, because although he had been surprised and shocked to see her here, he didn't stare and marvel at her apparent survival.

"Is she friends with him?" Lestrade said, trying to sound indirect and unconcerned, as if the piece of information wasn't very important. In reality though, he desperately wanted to know. He could see clearly that Sherlock very much cared for this woman; he had never seen so much emotion in his eyes. Neither had he ever seen Sherlock so open with his emotions, letting the vulnerability seep through.

John snorted slightly. "In a way, I suppose." He said, knowing that he should probably sound more concerned or sympathetic, but the absurdity of the situation and the fact that he had allowed himself to be tricked again crashed down on him. He wasn't sure how far Sherlock and Irene's relationship had progressed. It had been about a year since he had been informed by Mycroft that she was apparently dead, and a lot could happen in such a space of time.

He could hear the blare of sirens slowly getting closer and closer, until the bright lights almost blinded him.

"Ambulance is here" he said, almost grateful for the interruption, because it looked like Lestrade might want more information, and he wasn't currently sure just how much he could disclose.

"I'm going with her" Sherlock said suddenly from behind them, and both Lestrade and John jumped slightly. They hadn't realised that Sherlock had left Irene's side. Lestrade raised his eyebrows.

"Do you…want us to come as well?" John asked, feeling slightly uncertain. He suspected that there was a reason that Sherlock had kept him in the dark about this (possibly because he didn't want to get laughed at, or because Irene's life depended on it, both those reasons were very possible.)

Sherlock shrugged and walked over to the ambulance. He didn't care if John came or not, his thoughts were currently on his unconscious and abused lover.

John sighed, sounding slightly annoyed. "And we were only going out for dinner" he said, and went to hail a taxi, followed by Lestrade.

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**Hope that wasn't too angsty. The next chapter is already partially written, but there are some difficult bits. Bear with me please.**

**Please tell me what you thought of this. I've never read or written a Irene/Sherlock hurt comfort fic before, so some constructive criticism and feedback would be very much appreciated.**

**Laura**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you very much for the reviews! I was very happy with the response that I received to the first chapter, and I had no idea that so many of you were looking for a fic like this. I hope I can live up to your expectations.**

**I am so sorry the update took so long, I was away skiing in Switzerland the whole week and I had no proper internet access there.**

**Enjoy!**

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Sherlock was (unsurprisingly) already sitting by Irene's side. Irene was still unconscious, and was strapped up to an IV, but some colour had returned to her cheeks, and her breathing was now deep and steady instead of shallow.

"How is he?" John asked, as he came up to Sherlock. The detective's face was blank and expressionless as always, but John could see the relief in his eyes.

"She'll live" Sherlock answered in a low tone, and John heard the anger behind it. "But she's been drugged, abused and probably locked up in a cellar without proper food or water."

John nodded, not knowing quite what to say. Instead he grabbed a chair and joined him at Irene's bedside.

"How is she alive?" he asked after a while. "Mycroft assured me she was dead."

Sherlock snorted slightly, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I expect he did." Sherlock murmured.

"No seriously Sherlock." John countered. "He told me she was beheaded in a prison cell in Karachi. And he specifically told me that his search had been very thorough."

Sherlock sighed. "Mycroft told you the truth. Or at least what he believed to be the truth." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, never dropping Irene's hand. "I went to Karachi and made sure she survived. But I couldn't tell anyone, because people would be on the lookout for her, so I made her a new identity. We never told anyone."

John raised his eyebrows. So the feelings Sherlock had for her went beyond fascination and intrigue then.

"I don't even know why she's in London" Sherlock said after a while. "I told her never to come here, that the risk was too great and yet…"

Sherlock took a deep breath.

"Anyway, the Doctor's say that she might wake up in a few hours. I suppose all we can do until then is wait."

John nodded, and the two of them sat there in silence, both lost in their own thoughts.

Sherlock was wondering who had done this, and was going through several possible scenarios in his head which mostly included him throttling the person responsible. John was marvelling at the way Sherlock seemed to care. He wasn't attempting to conceal the emotion he felt for Irene at all, for god's sake, he was holding her hand as if she was his life line.

Or possibly vice versa.

At that moment Lestrade entered. Compared to the still and almost mournful silence in the hospital, his footsteps sounded loud and disruptive. Sherlock all but glared at him for disrupting the silence.

"Is she okay?" Lestrade said carefully ash he walked over to the detective, who suddenly seemed like a stranger to him. He had thought that he had known the man, at least to a good extent, and yet the detective always managed to do something that completely surprised and astounded the DI. Sherlock having found himself…a girlfriend, or probably something close to that anyway was something that would have made Lestrade burst out laughing any day. And yet now it was no longer a crazy idea, but fierce reality.

He wondered how he could have missed the signs. To be fair, Sherlock barely ever let anyone see his emotions, especially ones that made him vulnerable and …well, _normal_.

But now that he realised it was there, he couldn't understand how he could have not seen the new gentleness in his eyes, and not have noticed that he had become just that much gentler.

John seemed pretty miffed too though, so Lestrade suspected that he hadn't had any idea about this either. Lestrade almost had to laugh. Typical Sherlock. He may have finally given into his feelings for someone (the fact that the cold and at times inhuman detective had actually developed feelings for someone already astounded him) but he would never run to tell others about it. And yet, Sherlock could have easily denied the fact that he cared for the woman lying in the bed in front of him, or pretended that his feelings for her weren't strong, and yet he was doing neither. His face was as cold as usual, and yet he was holding her hand, and staring at her with such intensity…

"She's going to be alright". John's soft voice managed to break through Lestrade's thoughts. Physically at least."

Lestrade shuddered at John's implications, knowing that it would be heard to mentally recover from an attack as traumatising as this. He suspected that the woman was probably incredibly brave and clever for Sherlock to even look at her; much less care for her, but even the strongest and bravest of minds would have problems dealing with something similar to what she had been through.

He sighed and looked at Sherlock to see how he was taking all this. Other than the expression in his eyes, his face betrayed no emotion, and he sat in his usual cold silence. There was nothing new about that, Lestrade doubted that Sherlock had even heard him and John speak. His attention was focused solely on the woman before him.

Lestrade looked at John discretely and motioned for him to come and follow him. John stood up and tip-toed out of the room.

"How is he taking it?" Lestrade asked as soon as they were out of earshot.

John shrugged. "As he takes everything" he answered. "But he is concerned about her." He grimaced slightly. "I really wouldn't want to be the person who did this to her, because Sherlock is furious."

Lestrade nodded. Sherlock seemed to love this woman, so naturally her attack would trigger feelings of rage and protectiveness inside him. Lestrade himself was furious about the woman's condition as well, but as a policeman, he knew there were other methods of punishing the criminal. Not that he would necessarily mind if Sherlock went and killed the person who had done something like this, but his career and the law made him step in.

"I get that he is angry" he said carefully. He cleared his throat. "But this woman has been attacked, and it's now a criminal case. Which means there is going to be a full police investigation."

John looked suddenly worried.

Irene was supposed to be dead. Sherlock had said that he had made her new ID, but if she had come to London then she had most likely taken it with her, and there was no identification found on her body. They could prove that she existed, at least under her fake alias, but he had already told Lestrade her real name. And Irene was (or had been) something very close to a criminal, who was wanted in many countries. Everyone thought she was dead, and so the interest should have faded, but if this full police investigation revealed her to be alive…

John groaned inwardly. This was not good.

"And we'll need to interrogate her, obviously" Lestrade continued, when John remained silent. "I'll send an officer around when she gets better. Or at least when she's conscious." He looked at John, who barely seemed to be listening.

"Do you think Sherlock will be okay with that? I mean, he's been working with us for years, so he knows the procedure."

At this John finally looked up. "Maybe you should talk it over with him before you do anything" he said, and desperately hoped Lestrade would do so. He wasn't sure how much the DI put his career before friendship or alliance. Perhaps he would make it public that this was Irene Adler, and therefore ruin the whole life Sherlock had created for her. As a member of the police force, that was the duty that came with his job.

But Lestrade had known Sherlock for over 6 years now, and surely that had to count for something? Irene might have been a criminal, but as far as everyone was concerned, she was dead. And besides, John doubted that Irene had engaged in similar activities she had previously.

So if she now had a new identity and was no longer doing criminal things that might threaten an entire country, then surely Lestrade could turn a blind eye?

John desperately hoped so.

Lestrade nodded and went back over to Sherlock and began speaking to him in a low voice. John watched him carefully, looking for any signs of anxiety or worry in his friend's face, but Sherlock remained expressionless.

Lestrade left after a while, nodding to John. John walked over to Sherlock. He had dropped Irene's hand now, but was watching over her like a hawk.

"So?" John asked when Sherlock said nothing. Sherlock looked at him and raised his eyebrows.

"What?"

"Well what do you think about this 'full police investigation' that Lestrade wants to do? Doesn't that worry you at all?"

Sherlock shook his head. "She's safe for now. She hasn't been recognised, and I hope it will remain that way until morning."

John gulped slightly. "I told Lestrade her real name" he said, knowing now that that had been a mistake. He hoped Sherlock wouldn't get too furious.

But Sherlock merely nodded. "I know" he said simply, not looking at all concerned at the particular fact.

"You're not mad?" John asked, almost disbelievingly. He had expected Sherlock to be very angry, and then go on and on about how stupid normal people could be and how they never bothered to think.

But Sherlock just shrugged. "Lestrade promised that the investigation won't start until she wakes up. He's not coming back today, so I have time until morning."

"But he could just research her."

This didn't seem to concern Sherlock much either. "All traces of her have been wiped from the internet."

"But he's a policeman! He has access to all the other official records that can't be wiped. Like the CIA, for instance. Or the British government."

"She is in no danger" Sherlock's voice said, and there was a steel edge to it, which effectively ended the discussion. John briefly wondered whether Sherlock was telling him or reassuring himself of the matter.

He yawned slightly, because Sherlock didn't feel inclined to speak, and besides, John was tired. It was just after midnight now, and he had work tomorrow.

"You should go home". Sherlock's tone was suddenly much softer.

"Are you sure?" John asked. "I can stay with you, if you want?"

But Sherlock shook his head. "She might not wake up for another few hours, and even that's just an estimated guess. It might take longer. You need your sleep, you have work tomorrow. You wouldn't want Sarah to have to cover for you again."

John nodded and got up, but suddenly turned around sharply.

"Hang on. That was _ages_ ago. _How_ do you know about that?"

Sherlock simply smirked slightly, and after a while John left, because it was clear that he wasn't going to be able to get and answer out of Sherlock tonight.

He wasn't even sure he wanted to know.

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**Hope you enjoyed that. :)**

**Like I already mentioned, I am completely new at writing Sherlock and Irene hurt/comfort fics, so any feedback would be very much appreciated! Please guys, if you have any opinions, please tell me in a review or PM me! And if you don't have something nice to say then please tell me what you think anyways. Even negative feedback is appreciated, because I can improve my writing that way.**

**Laura **


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you very much for all the reviews I received for the last chapter! I can't say the reviewer's full name here, otherwise FFnet will wipe it, but I just really wanted to thank Ida D. for her constructive criticism. I very very much appreciated that :)**

**Anyone who is unhappy that And then there were 3 hasn't been updated in a while, I very much apologise. I have the whole story planned out already, and about 2 later chapters already written, but currently I am kind of stuck somewhere in the middle of chapter 3. This is my way of coping with writer's block, so please bear with me for a while. I promise that I will try to update soon.**

**Anyways, here is some interaction with the Holmes brothers. Happy reading! :D**

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As soon as John had gone, Sherlock stood up and walked over to the corner of the room. He took out his mobile phone and took a deep breath. He was about to do something he abhorred, something that he had never wanted to do before and something that he didn't really want to do again either.

Lestrade had left about 10 minutes ago, and it would take him about 30 minutes to reach his house or his office at the Yard.

Sherlock had been lying slightly when he had said that Irene was in no danger. There was always the chance that someone might look her up or that Lestrade might inform other officers about the investigation this evening.

Which meant that there was only one way out.

He tried to hold back a slight groan as he dialled a number on his phone. If there was any way to avoid what was about to come, then he would certainly do it, but he saw no other way.

He needed to ask Mycroft for help.

He waited tersely as the phone rang, and almost flinched when he heard his brother's impatient voice: "What is it Sherlock?"

He took a deep breath and waited a second, carefully thinking of how to formulate his request.

"Mycroft" he said eventually, with a heavy tone. "I need to…ask you a favour."

He could practically feel his brother's surprise over the phone, and heard the brief but shocked silence that followed. He hadn't said that he needed help, because he disliked the way the phrase made him seem weak or vulnerable. Instead he opted for favour, because it sounded like something that Mycroft _could_ do for him, but something that was not of great importance.

But Mycroft knew something was up. The fact that Sherlock actually needed something from him already surprised the politician, but the fact that there seemed to be some sort urgency to his little brother's tone made the situation almost drastic.

"Yes?" he asked carefully, feeling sudden concern for Sherlock's well-being.

Sherlock almost smirked, in spite of the situation. "You're not going to like this"

Mycroft frowned to himself, but said nothing, letting the silence speak for him. Sherlock saw it as confirmation to carry on.

"Someone I know has a… problem and is in need of new ID. "

"Someone you know?" Mycroft asked, his voice icy and piercing. Sherlock was being deliberately vague, which was always a bad sign. Besides, he couldn't just simply hand out new identification to those who needed it (well he _could_, but there were legal boundaries that he could at least pretend not to overstep).

"She's been attacked, and is now in danger. I wouldn't ask for this favour if it weren't absolutely necessary Mycroft."

"She?" Mycroft questioned sharply, wondering what woman Sherlock could possibly care about. The only one that came to his mind was Mrs Hudson, and he truly doubted that the conversation was about her.

But if not Mrs Hudson, then who?

"Look" Sherlock said brusquely. "Please just come here, I would prefer to discuss the details in person."

"Where are you?" Mycroft asked, sighing resignedly. It seemed that he would always have to be Sherlock's babysitter in a way and have to comply with his every request.

"Bart's hospital" Sherlock said, and heard Mycroft disconnect the call. He hoped he would hurry up, because he only had 20 minutes left to make sure that Irene stayed absolutely safe.

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Mycroft arrived within 5 minutes, something that Sherlock was very grateful for. He met him outside Irene's room, because he knew that Mycroft would be utterly furious if he saw Irene. He doubted that there was a woman that Mycroft abhorred more.

Sherlock smirked at the fact that he had unintentionally managed to make his brother angry without even trying it; it seemed to be one of his talents.

He composed his face into a more serious expression however, because he knew that if Mycroft helped him tonight, then he would be forever indebted to him. He grimaced. That was not something that Sherlock had wanted either, but he supposed that if it came as a side effect to keeping Irene safe, then he would gladly take it.

Mycroft wore a slightly irritated but concerned expression as he walked over to Sherlock.

"Well?" he asked. His voice sounded like it usually did – irritated and impatient, but Sherlock knew that this was his normal tone, and thought nothing of it.

"Someone I know has been kidnapped, abused and probably imprisoned in some sort of cellar, and now she's been found unconscious in a street in London." Sherlock said, coming straight to the point. "The police force wants to conduct a full investigation, but there's a small problem."

Mycroft raised his eyebrows.

"She's going to need new ID. I need you to be able to somehow get that past the government and the police."

Mycroft's eyebrows rose even further. He decided to ignore the favour Sherlock had just asked on him, and concentrated on his voice ne instead. Sherlock's tone sounded like it usually did, but there was some sort of softer and gentler quality to it – not apparent to people who didn't know him, but Mycroft noticed it immediately. Sherlock's tone was generally so detached and cold, but there were emotions in it now. They were very subtle, and barely noticeable, as if Sherlock was doing his best to supress them, but they were definitely _there_. Worry, and fear and …_love_?

No, he was being absurd.

Sherlock knew as well as he did that caring was not an advantage, and there was absolutely no way that he would allow something even similar to love get the better of him.

"Who is she?" he asked, needing to know who this woman was. He hadn't seen Sherlock with her, so he couldn't judge, but if Sherlock cared for a woman…how had he not managed to find out about this?

Sherlock frowned slightly. "I'm relying on your help" was all he said, before he opened the door to Irene's room. "Oh and one more thing" he added, and closed the door again when he saw that Mycroft was craning his neck to try and see who she was. "_Do_ try not to wake her, she needs rest."

With that he pushed open the door, and walked in, not bothering to hold it open. Mycroft managed to walk in just before the door slammed in his face.

He immediately went over to the bed, trying in vain to conceal his interest. Even from the other side of the room, he could see that the woman was not in a good condition. She was strapped up to an IV, and there were several monitors next to her, probably monitoring her pulse and heart rate. Bruises covered the snow white skin, or what was visible of it anyway.

He stepped closer, and her facial features suddenly became familiar to him.

His emotions got the better of him, and he was unable to control the small gasp that left his mouth. For a second, his face betrayed utter and complete shock, before he gained control over his feelings and concealed his emotions behind a mask.

But he let his eyes show the piercing anger he felt. He fixed his furious gaze on Sherlock.

His voice was like ice, cold and hard, and sliced through the air like a knife.

"_What have you done?"_

Sherlock didn't seem at all intimidated by Mycroft's glare, but looked vaguely irritated at the fact that Mycroft had raised his voice. His eyes went immediately to Irene, making sure that she did not wake, and then went back to Mycroft. "I told you to be quiet."

Mycroft stared at his brother's audacity. He was fairly certain that Sherlock had played a part in somehow keeping Irene alive and fooling him, because no one else would have been able to pull it off. Which means that he had acted on the fleeting feeling he had felt for her, the feelings that made him no different to other men.

Weak, vulnerable and stupid.

He had fooled him, and then asked him for help concerning her, and now he was asking him on keep his voice down?

Did he have any idea what he had done?

His gaze, although more controlled, was getting more dangerous by the minute. Sherlock still remained unintimidated.

Sherlock simply raised his eyebrow in response to Mycroft's question, not bothering to answer. He let the silence speak for itself.

Mycroft's eyes catalogued the way his little brother's eyes drifted over to Irene every few seconds, almost unconsciously, as if he didn't realise he was doing it. He saw the way that his eyes softened, just a bit, and the way that his whole facial features shifted. He wasn't the emotionless detective anymore.

The total and utter realisation was like a wave crashing down on him. No, not a wave, a tsunami, each wave carrying its own message.

_He cares for her. _

_It's not just fascination and intrigue anymore._

_He wants her safe._

_He loves her._

The last realisation made him almost physically weak, and he tightened his hold on his umbrella. His face, however, stayed neutral.

Only a second had passed, but Sherlock now saw that his brother now understood the situation. Mycroft, he knew, was still very angry, and unpleasantly shocked, but he understood.

Not in the positive sense, certainly, he had been the one who had told Sherlock over and over again that caring was a disadvantage and he was angry that the advice had had no effect on him, in the end.

No, his understanding was resigned. He knew that shifting Sherlock was impossible. Sherlock was awfully stubborn, and once he set his mind on something there was no possible way anyone could ever convince him otherwise. Love was a strong emotion, one that managed to get into every inch and fibre of someone's body, an emotion that infiltrated someone's mind at the most unwanted of times and slowly turned anything in there into mush. Even a practical and sharp mind like Sherlock's might not have been able to escape this, however hard he tried.

The proof was right before him.

Mycroft sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What do you need?" he asked, his voice suddenly tired and irritated.

Sherlock inwardly sighed in relief. A small part of him had been scared that Mycroft would refuse, and leave Irene Adler to the authorities. But now there was a way out.

"I need you to somehow make the hospital staff turn a blind eye for a bit. And the police force too, if possible" he said.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows. The police force? Surely there would be an investigation; he supposed that it was precisely this that had his little brother so very worried. But honestly, did Sherlock expect him to somehow make everyone in the police force ignorant of the fact that the woman they were investigating was a (supposedly) dead criminal ex dominatrix, with lack of identification? Contrary to what he said, he was pretty much the British government, but he wasn't _god_.

"I thought you said she needed new ID?" he asked, deciding to take questions one at a time.

Sherlock nodded. "Yes. But she hasn't woken up yet, and I have no idea who did this to her. Nor do I know whether she came to London by her own choice or if she was taken here by force."

"You think the kidnappers took her and her identification?"

Sherlock nodded in confirmation. "Yes. There was no identification found on the body. Either the kidnappers have the ID I had made for her-" (he saw Mycroft's mouth turn down in the smallest of grimaces)-"or she never took it with her. I won't be able to determine that until she wakes up, and it may be wholly unnecessary to make her new identification. If we refer to her by her old alias however, the kidnappers will be alerted, and will know that they have tricked us."

"What about the hospital staff?" Mycroft asked. Sherlock nodded.

"I haven't given them an official name yet. She was moved to intensive care quite quickly, and I ignored everyone, so after a while, people stopped asking. "

Mycroft sighed. That did sound like his brother.

"I'll see what I can do" he said, and saw something appear in Sherlock's eyes that he had not seen there for a very long time.

Gratefulness.

"When will she wake up?" Mycroft asked, suddenly feeling slightly uncomfortable. Sherlock turned around (having gone to Irene's bed) looking almost distracted.

This is what sentiment did to people. Left them distracted and clueless. Mycroft sincerely hoped he never encountered it.

"The doctors aren't sure" he answered. "But certainly not for another few hours."

Mycroft sighed and nodded. "Alright."

The two brothers shared a long glance. Sherlock broke it first and went back over to Irene, sitting down on the chair positioned next to the bed, and closed his eyes, evidently thinking of what else he should do to ensure Irene's safety.

Mycroft got ready to go. He fastened the buttons on his coat and transferred his umbrella to the other arm. He doubted that Sherlock even noticed him leaving, he was already too engrossed in his thoughts (or possibly even in the woman before him?) he shook his head and opened the door, stepping into the hall.

"Mycroft" his brother's voice called out just before the door closed. Mycroft raised his eyebrows.

"Thank you".

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**Thank you for reading, and please drop a review :)**

**Laura x**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello again. Here is some of the Irene/Sherlock interaction you all wanted. I personally think that it is rather OOC, and I apologise. Also, be warned: this chapter is very short! I am in the middle of studying, but in the end I just had to finish this. What can I say? I am addicted xx**

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She blinked. She could barely see. But slowly, the face she currently wanted to see the most swam into view.

Blue grey eyes, cheekbones, a mass of curly black hair.

Sherlock.

She blinked again, needing to ascertain that it was Sherlock there, and not just her imagination. She tried to move and groaned in pain.

"Shhh" a deep soothing voice said and Irene allowed herself to relax. This voice was familiar and comforting. "Don't try to move, just stay still."

"Sherlock" she whispered, her voice dry and cracked, raspy from lack of use as well as lack of water.

"I'm here" he confirmed, and she felt his large warm hand wrap around her small cold one. One finger went to her face, tracing her cheek softly.

"What have you managed to get yourself into this time?" he said, his voice being a perfect mix of playful exasperation and concern.

She took a long deep breath and closed her eyes, but immediately opened them when she saw her captor's face behind the lids.

She shuddered slightly, and decided not to reply to Sherlock's questions. Her mind still felt fuzzy, probably a side effect from some sort of sleep inducing drug, or possibly morphine. Then again, her mind had been addled by drugs for some time now.

But she also didn't feel ready. She didn't ever want to talk about what she had just gone through, she just wanted to go on and pretend that nothing had happened.

It did no good to dwell in the past. Or at least, that was what she told herself.

Sherlock didn't seem surprised by her silence; he simply studied her face intently. Maybe he was memorising her, though in his case it was probably more a case of analysing, and trying to read what had happened to her from her face.

He didn't seem to find any proper clues in her expression though, and drew back was a sigh of annoyance. He could read everyone, but never her.

The thought irritated him to no end.

Irene looked at him too, trying to memorise his face. She had spent so long thinking she would never ever see it again.

And so the two of them just sat there in silence. There were things that needed to be said and discussed, but Irene wasn't ready for it, and in truth, neither was Sherlock. He may have given into his feelings for Irene, allowed himself to love someone, but discussing situations like this one, where sentiment was involved, was still something he wasn't used to. The reactions he would have when Irene told him what had happened to her were not reactions he could really control, and it was better for him to calm down now and simply focus on the fact that Irene was safe.

Irene broke the silence after a while. "How long have I been unconscious?" she asked carefully, making sure to keep her voice as light as possible. She didn't want to betray how much it shook. Her fear and anxiety was still something that she wanted very much to hide from the world.

Sherlock noticed what she was doing, but didn't comment, understanding her reasons. He would have done the same, being in her position.

"You've been in the hospital for about 8 hours now" he said, keeping his voice mostly detached. He avoided mentioning finding her in an alley way, and that he wasn't sure how long she had been there. Irene was very grateful for that.

She nodded, and sank back onto the bed, closing her eyes. Sherlock knew by her breathing pattern that she was still awake.

He stared at her, wondering how he could possibly formulate his question without making her uncomfortable. He had next to no experience with these things, and although Irene understood him better than anyone, her traumatic experience might have made her a little more sensitive.

He took a deep breath, about to ask a question that both of them currently wanted to avoid, but for different reasons.

Irene heard Sherlock's intake of breath, and knew what was about to come. Her muscles tensed slightly, and before he even said the first word, she opened her own mouth.

"No" she said, and opened her eyes, turning her head to look at him.

"Not yet".

He nodded understandingly. "You know…that we will eventually need to talk about this?" he asked, frowning sightly, hoping his choice of words was appropriate.

She nodded, of course she knew, but she wanted so desperately to avoid it. She didn't want to speak of those experiences; she wanted to put them behind her.

"You're safe for now" Sherlock said, deciding that he could at least provide that assurance. "Lestrade found you, and he wants to and will launch an investigation, but not until morning. Unfortunately, John let your real name slip, but I've cleared it with Mycroft. He's also put your room under high surveillance. "

Irene nodded, inwardly emitting a huge sigh of relief. She knew she was safe, Sherlock was here, the sole person she truly trusted, and she knew that he would have taken precautions. But to know that his brother (who wielded a lot of control) was also making sure that she remained safe was something that made her sure that her kidnappers would not get her.

She wondered how Sherlock had managed to convince his brother to help her, and almost smirked as she imagined the scenario.

"Irene" Sherlock said again, and the way he spoke sounded a little more forced.

"I and Mycroft needed to discuss whether or not to make you new identification." He cleared his throat, doing his best to be gentle, for probably the first time in his life.

"I know you don't want to talk about this yet, but in order to keep you as safe as possible in the long-term, I have to know whether you were kidnapped when you had ID on you or not. We may have to give you a new alias."

Irene closed her eyes again. "They took me I while I was still in New Zealand. I may have had some identification, but I am sure they probably searched the house thoroughly."

Sherlock nodded. That was all he needed to know.

"Okay" was all he said. "You can sleep now, if you wish. We can talk more the next time you wake up."

Irene's eyes stayed closed.

"Talking about it will help" Sherlock added after a while. He didn't want to force her, but she had to know that it was necessary that she speak to him about her experience, and that she would be required to speak to policemen.

"You should be aware that Lestrade wishes to interrogate you, because the case has now been assigned to him. Or rather, _he_ has decided to make it his case. He wants to start the investigation in the morning."

Irene still kept her eyes closed. She was going to be interrogated so soon?

Although the option didn't appeal to her either, she had to admit that she would much rather talk to Sherlock than to a team of police officers.

But she had a few more hours. She decided to take Sherlock's advice and sleep.

She struggled to make her breathing even, so that she would be able to fool Sherlock. He stayed silent, although his eyes were fixed only on her, pointedly ignoring everything else in the room.

"Irene?" he said quietly after a while, and she felt his hand gently wrap around hers once again. The touch calmed her, but Sherlock withdrew his hand almost immediately.

Ahh. He was taking her pulse, testing whether or not she was awake. She wasn't sure if she had managed to fool him.

But she suddenly felt his breath ghost over her cheek, so she knew she hadn't.

"You don't have to act brave for me" he whispered gently, and withdrew. He thought about gently brushing her cheek with his lips, but decided against the action. It was probably better to wait a bit with physical contact.

And so he sat back in his chair, and simply watched Irene lie there, until her breathing pattern (which had been a little exaggerated before) finally told him that she was finally asleep.

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**I hope you enjoyed that, and that I was at least somehow able to meet your expectations. Please tell me what you think!**

**Laura xx**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello everyone. I'm sorry for the long wait, but I have been extremely busy. Hope you enjoy this chapter. Especially Sherlocked until death. Xxx**

**I should warn you that this chapter is rather short. Sorry :) **

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When Irene woke up a few hours later, Sherlock wasn't next to her anymore. Her first instinct was to panic, because she felt safe with him, and now he wasn't here. As silly as it sounded, she did now sort of regard him as her protector.

Her second instinct was to immediately supress any fear she might have felt. She closed her eyes ad counted to 5, and when she opened them again, her mask was on.

And yet, if anybody walking by had cared to look a little closer, they would have noticed that Irene Adler was scared. The way she twitched occasionally, the way her eyes darted to and fro, how she took everything in slightly nervously were all things that gave her away.

She leant sank back into the bed, but the second she closed her eyes she relieved scenes from her kidnapping. Rest hadn't been easy this night, and she had had terrible nightmares. She wasn't sure if Sherlock noticed (though knowing him, it was more than likely) and she felt almost ashamed for showing weakness like that. And yet one sentence he had uttered had calmed her to such a huge extent the night before: "You don't have to act brave for me".

Saying that was practically like saying 'I love you', coming from him. It meant that he knew that she had this weaker side, and that it didn't repel him, but that he thought highly of her if she chose to act weak instead of brave.

She sighed to herself, and looked around, wanting to see if she could find a clock. Sherlock had told her the previous night that the interrogation would start in the morning, and she wanted to find out how much time she had left.

But there was no clock anywhere in the room (She had a private room all to herself – probably the courtesy of the Holmes brothers) and the kidnappers had taken her watch.

She sighed again, in exasperation this time, and wished Sherlock would come. She wasn't even sure where he was – possibly just getting coffee, or back in Baker Street. But she was somehow reassured that he wouldn't leave her. She trusted him, and if he had wanted to leave then he would have told her openly.

Instead of groaning about her current situation, she busied herself with thinking exactly what she would tell Sherlock. She had already decided not to lie to him, but she was scared that the second she told him the kidnapper's names he would take off and try to find them. She wanted justice, and knew that the kidnappers would need to be punished for their crimes (she was sure that they hadn't only kidnapped her, it was a whole organisation after all, and they had to make their profit somewhere else), but selfishly she wanted Sherlock to remain with her for now. Mainly because she needed him, he was the only one who knew her strengths and weaknesses and could help her get through this. But she was also terrified that if he went after kidnappers, they would be alerted and capture him too. And she was terrified about what they might do to him.

She saw Sherlock in the hallway then (her door had been left ajar). He was standing with Lestrade and holding a cup of coffee, talking to the DI in a low voice. Lestrade was nodding and making gestures with his hands, but Sherlock was shaking his head adamantly.

Irene watched the two of them carefully, trying to figure out what they were talking about from their body language. Sherlock seemed pretty firm on something, while Lestrade was doing his best to look sympathetic and understanding. He wasn't quite managing it though, and part of him looked rather exasperated.

After a while however, Lestrade finally left looking resigned and Sherlock pushed the door open to go in.

Irene knew that it was now too late to conceal the fact that she had been watching, and that pretending to be asleep was fruitless. And so she simply watched Sherlock enter the room. He didn't seem surprised to see her awake.

"What did he want?" Irene asked, not bothering with a greeting. Sherlock sighed.

"He wanted to start the interrogation now. I told him that was out of the question before I spoke to you privately."

Irene smiled. That was nice of him. "Thank you".

Sherlock's eyes softened and he put his coffee cup on the table.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, walking towards her.

Irene sighed. Sherlock took that as an answer.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, and although there was a small flash of mirth in his eyes, it disappeared as quickly as it came. But Irene shook her head.

Sherlock frowned. "You haven't had any proper food for days" he told her, suddenly playing the part of the stern adult. "You need food."

He pressed a button by the side of her bed, and a nurse came in, almost as if Sherlock had arranged her to be there at that precise moment. She set down the try she was carrying, and smiled at Irene, who couldn't quite smile back.

"Hello dear" she said, and although she was only in her early forties, she spoke to Irene in a tone that suggested she could be her grandmother. Sherlock smiled into his coffee.

The nurse walked around inspecting some of the monitors, and taking notes on a clip board. She smiled at Irene once she finished, and wished her a good morning, giving her some pain killers to swallow.

Irene ate her breakfast quietly and without complaint, but Sherlock could see that she was being deliberately slow. He sighed inwardly.

Of course he knew that Irene wanted to avoid talking to him, and he wasn't offended. But it was new to him. He had always known that Irene had a slightly more vulnerable side, he had begun seeing it after Karachi, but he had never witnessed her like this.

Stripped of all confidence.

He would have to tread gently.

"Irene" he started out, when he saw that she was taking smaller and smaller bites of her bun. Irene sighed and knew he saw through her efforts.

Sherlock leant forward in his chair. "Irene, the police have agreed to let me talk to you first, but they have given me a limited time. After that, they insist that they take over. If you don't want to tell me I understand, but you will have to speak to the police either way."

Irene looked down but nodded, her hair covering her face. She would rather talk to Sherlock.

"What happened?" he asked, and he had to admit that his tone could have sounded gentler. He bit his lip as he saw Irene flinch.

"They abducted me on the street when I was leaving the house. I suppose they had been keeping tabs on me for some time."

Sherlock nodded. He was mad at himself for not being able to protect Irene more, but there was nothing that could be done about that now.

"The injected me with drugs right after that" Irene continued, still not looking at Sherlock "and I have no idea where they took me. I suspected the somehow illegally got me out of New Zealand, because I don't remember any sort of travelling after that."

"Did you recognise the kidnappers?" Sherlock asked, and his hand found Irene's. She shook her head.

"They wouldn't tell me their names either."

"What happened after that?" he asked in a softer voice, and he watched Irene bite her lip. She took her time with replying.

"They…kept me in a cellar somewhere."

Sherlock's free hand curled into a fist. "_And then_?"

Irene said nothing.

Sherlock closed his eyes briefly. He remembered Lestrade showing him the medical report while Irene had been asleep.

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"_She has several broken fingers, and burn marks across her stomach and shoulder. One of them has become infected. Other than that she has a badly sprained ankle, cuts and bruises, and has probably had numerous concussion several times."_

_Lestrade watched nervously as Sherlock's hands curled into fists, until the knuckles were white. He knew very well that Lestrade hadn't finished yet._

_The DI took a deep breath before continuing._

"_Obviously she's been abused, and injected with several drugs to make her weak and unable to defend herself." _

_He swallowed, watching Sherlock's eyes grow more and more dangerous. Sherlock knew that there was still one thing Lestrade hadn't mentioned._

"_She was raped. Repeatedly."_

_._

_._

_._

Sherlock's voice was cold, hard and dangerous.

"Who did this?"

Irene gulped. "I didn't see the kidnappers" she said, and her voice wobbled very slightly.

Sherlock gritted his teeth.

"The kidnappers weren't the only ones who did all this to you. They were only acting on the orders they had been given. Who _arranged_ it?"

Irene took a deep breath before she answered. A tear rolled down her cheek.

"Moriarty".

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**Thank you very much for reading.**

**I have to admit, that I was rather disappointed by the amount of reviews I got for the last chapter. Reviews play a huge part in motivating me to write, so please review. Any suggestions, negative or positive feedback or requests are welcome. (Though I can't necessarily promise to work them into the story, seeing that a lot of it has already been planned out.)**

**Anyway, I don't really like to ask for reviews, so I am not going to. Instead, I am going to be slightly more evil and tell you that the next chapter is already written, and that the time I will post it depends entirely on the number of reviews.**

**Hahaha, how mean of me huh? xD**

**Anyway, hoped you enjoyed, and please review!  
>Laura xx<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you very much for all the reviews, they were all greatly appreciated. **

**To make up for all the short chapters I have been giving you, here is a very long one.**

**You should know that this piece is divided up into two slightly different parts. I originally intended them to be separate chapters, but that would have made them rather short. They take place in the same time thread (can you say that?) but one of them is more centric on Sally Donovan's point of view.**

**Enjoy xx**

_._

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_._

_Sherlock's voice was cold, hard and dangerous. _

"_Who did this?"_

_Irene gulped. "I didn't see the kidnappers" she said, and her voice wobbled very slightly._

_Sherlock gritted his teeth._

"_The kidnappers weren't the only ones who did all this to you. They were only acting on the orders they had been given. Who arranged it?"_

_Irene took a deep breath before she answered. A tear rolled down her cheek._

"_Moriarty"._

Sherlock nodded at what he had already suspected.

No other person would have cared this much about kidnapping Irene. If any government that had previously believed her to be dead discovered her to be alive, they probably would have done a background check on her current lifestyle. Had they decided that Irene Adler wasn't exhorting information from various powerful people and using it as a form of blackmail as she had done previously, they would have alerted others, and kept watch, but they would not have kidnapped her.

And they certainly wouldn't have tortured her.

But if Moriarty had discovered that Sherlock had managed to _fool_ him, well then he was bound to get his revenge. In the most horrible way possible.

He would have known that Sherlock had saved Irene; he was the only one who would have been able to pull it off. Moriarty would also have been able to figure out that Sherlock harboured feelings for Irene, because he wouldn't have cared about her welfare otherwise.

But Sherlock wasn't sure if Moriarty now thought Irene was dead, or _wanted_ Sherlock to find Irene in an unconscious state, knowing that the detective would eventually want to get to him. For Moriarty, it was all a fun distraction. It didn't matter how many people got hurt in the process, the game was all that mattered.

Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, wondering what he should do next. He wanted to go after Moriarty, wanted to _kill_ him for what he had done to Irene, but at the same time he knew that this was exactly what the consulting criminal wanted. By going after him, he would be playing right into Moriarty's hands.

Irene was looking at Sherlock, tears making their way down her cheeks. She had desperately wanted for Sherlock not to see this side to her, but her body betrayed her. Sherlock didn't really seem to notice.

He was staring intently at the wall, apparently deep in thought.

Irene lay back down, and pulled the blanket up to her neck, letting her hair cover the rest of her face.

After a few minutes, Sherlock's attention finally went back to her. His eyes closed briefly when he saw her curled up in the sheets, eyes red and slightly swollen.

"Thank you" he told her. "I know that wasn't easy for you".

He watched Irene for a moment, and seemed to be making a decision in his head. He nodded to himself.

"I'll go and get Lestrade, and tell him what you told me. I suppose you don't want to be interrogated now do you?"

Irene merely shook her head.

Sherlock nodded, and stood up. His lips brushed her cheek briefly before he left.

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Lestrade was waiting for him at the reception, discussing something with another officer. He looked up eagerly when he heard Sherlock's footsteps, and excused himself.

"Well?" he asked Sherlock, but the detective shook his head.

"No."

"Sherlock…" Lestrade started out, slightly frustrated. "We did have an agreement."

"She is in no fit state to be interrogated Lestrade!" Sherlock snapped.

He was furious. Furious at Moriarty for doing this, for scaring Irene, for hurting her so much (both mentally and physically) and furious at himself for not being able to have prevented it. And now he was angry at Lestrade too, because the DI couldn't see that Irene needed to recover first.

"I will tell you everything she told me" he said, in a somewhat calmer voice. "But she's traumatised, and she needs rest."

Lestrade sighed. "Sherlock, we did have a deal. We have to know what happened, if we want to catch the person responsible."

"I already know who it is" Sherlock interrupted. "I've been fairly certain ever since you found her in that alley way. There is only one person who would do this, only one person who would choose to dump her unconscious in an alley way in London, knowing that I would find her there."

Lestrade looked surprised. "Wait…you're saying that this was deliberate? That the kidnapper wanted you to see it." He frowned. "But why?"

"He knew that I would go after him" Sherlock answered, wondering at how slow Lestrade's mind could be. "He _wants_ me to go after him."

"Do you know his name?" Lestrade asked, and took out his notebook and pen, ready to take notes. Sherlock nodded.

"Yes. And so do you". He paused for a moment, forming the hated name on his lips.

"James Moriarty."

Lestrade almost took a step back in shock. Of course he knew who Moriarty was; he had been informed of John nearly being blown up and Sherlock almost being killed.

"Moriarty" he repeated, almost shocked. "He arranged all this just to spite you."

Sherlock nodded stiffly.

"How do you know this?" Lestrade asked him, his pen flying over the paper.

"Irene told me."

"And how does she know him? Did he tell her his name? Or did she recognise him from John's blog or something?"

Sherlock closed his eyes, body tensing slightly, aware that he couldn't reveal anything about Irene's past to Lestrade. Or at least not yet.

"He told her his name. And it's definitely him."

Lestrade looked slightly uncomfortable. "I would still prefer to go in and talk to her myself, Sherlock. I can't be sure that it really was Moriarty. It could have been someone impersonating him." But the detective shook his head.

"I will tell you everything she told me. But you talking to her right now is out of the question."

"Sherlock, I _need_ to interrogate her." Lestrade argued. "It's protocol. And, unlike previous occasions, you actually know the victim, which means that I can't count on you to be objective anymore."

Sherlock growled in annoyance, and wondered how he could possibly get his point across.

"Irene is one of the strongest women I know" he said eventually. "And the second she has to talk about what happened to her or say Moriarty's name, she becomes frightened and weak and terrified. You are welcome to interrogate her tomorrow, but she can't go through that ordeal now."

With that, he walked out of the lobby, and back into the hallway, making sure to stop three doors down from Irene's room. He pulled out his phone, and selected Mycroft's number.

"I need you to trace Moriarty and put all possible surveillance on him." he said, once his brother picked up. He paused slightly. "And I'm going to need a gun".

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In the end Lestrade decided not to interrogate Irene that day, choosing to spare her the ordeal. However, he went in the second day to introduce himself and talk to her, not about the kidnapping, but simply to earn her trust.

Sherlock visited her every day, but didn't always stay very long. He was working with half the police force and all of Mycroft's men, trying to track down Moriarty's whereabouts. But the criminal had decided to play hide and seek, and no one could find him.

John visited Irene too sometimes, and was shocked to see her so changed. She was sweeter of course, and gentler, because she had been living a very different life since Karachi. But she was also more frightened and more vulnerable.

After she had been in the hospital for four days, Mycroft himself appeared, his blue eyes icy and piercing, and handed her the new identification.

"I hope the name my brother has chosen is satisfactory." He said stiffly. Irene smiled.

_Elizabeth Irene Stephenson._

Sherlock had decided to use her original name as her middle name. That way, it wouldn't arouse suspicion if he called her Irene in front of the policemen.

"Perfectly satisfactory, thank you" she said with overdone sweetness, smiling a tiny bit as Mycroft grimaced. He left the hospital immediately after that.

After the fourth day, Lestrade finally decided that it was time to have a proper interrogation. So far Sherlock had been providing most of the necessary information, but it became vital to talk to Irene.

She finally consented.

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The woman looked slightly shaken and was occasionally a bit jumpy, especially around men. It didn't surprise Sally Donovan at all; she knew that this was quite typical for victims who had gone through such a traumatising experience as this woman had. What interested her about the woman however was the gleam of determination which seemed to be always present in her eyes. Often she tried to cover up her pain and fear, and tried to make sure that no one saw or realised what she was going through.

This was something that Sally very much admired her for. She guessed that Irene must have had a very strong and independent character before all this.

Because Irene was still a little jumpy around some men, the police force had decided to let only women interrogate her, with the exception of Lestrade, whom Irene seemed to trust. Sally wasn't sure why, but then again Lestrade just had that gentle, caring quality about him, not to mention that he had been the one who had found her. Perhaps Irene regarded him as her saviour.

Sally made sure to be gentle with the woman, and led her to the interrogation room with the calmness and overdone gentleness as one might lead an invalid or young child. The woman seemed surprised and almost irritated by Sally's behaviour, but tried very hard not to show it.

The room wasn't the usual type of interrogation room; they weren't even at Scotland Yard. Lestrade had said that the usual cold and dark rooms generally used for this procedure were inadequate for this occasion, seeing that the woman had spent almost two weeks locked up and tortured in a cold damp cellar. Instead, they had opted for using the hospital lounge, which had been closed off to the patients at the hospital for the afternoon.

Sally's phone beeped as they neared the room and she flipped it open hurriedly. Lestrade was supposed to be present during the interrogation, but he wasn't here yet. She hoped that the text he had just sent would account for his current whereabouts:

_I and Sherlock will be here in 5 minutes. Make sure Irene has everything she needs._

Sally groaned inwardly as she read the text. Sherlock was coming? She had thought that it had been made clear that the woman was traumatised, and having another man present during the interrogation wouldn't help.

Especially if that man was Sherlock Holmes.

All the freak would be concerned about was catching the criminal and getting the necessary information out of Irene to do so, not at all caring how he did it.

Having the insensitive and arrogant detective present during the interrogation would be no use to them at all and Sally couldn't understand why Lestrade couldn't finally put his foot down. After all, he had been the one who had given the order that no man other than himself was allowed to question Irene.

She sighed and led the woman into the room, deciding that the least she could do was to prepare her for what she was about to go through. "Listen" she began. "Someone else other than DI Lestrade is coming for the interrogation and he is generally …rather impolite and tactless."

Irene raised her eyebrows, and Sally could have sworn that she smirked slightly, but she decided that it had only been her imagination. She looked at Sally as if she were analysing her for a second though.

"Impolite?" she questioned and Sally knew that if she wanted to prepare her for this ordeal then she should not attempt to be mild or classy.

"Okay, look" she said brusquely. "Impolite is a nice way to describe him. He's absolutely intolerable, and he's arrogant and rude and just plain inhuman. So the second that you want to send him away, just tell me. Okay?"

Irene nodded, and shivered slightly from cold, pulling her jacket more tightly around her. Sally didn't notice this, as she was making sure that the room was furnished with everything they needed.

Irene sat down on the sofa, wincing slightly at one of the countless bruises covering her body. Sally gave her a cup of tea, and sat down opposite her, studying her.

This woman fascinated Sally. She was strong and clever, although the experience she had been through had left her a little scared and hesitant. But at the same time there was some sort of quality about her, and armour or mask of some sort, which she used to shield her emotions and feelings from the rest of the world. Anything that might make her too vulnerable seemed to be dangerous to her.

She never really talked much, at least not to Sally, but the sergeant had the impression that there was so much more to the woman than she was letting on. She looked beautiful and was very smart and Sally wondered what she had done in her life before. Did she have a family, was she married or in a relationship? Did she stay at home or did she have a job?

At that moment Sally heard footsteps and saw Lestrade and Sherlock approaching. Lestrade wore an almost curious expression on his face, but other than that he looked professional and sympathetic. Sherlock walked behind him, all tall and impressive, his jaw set, a determined look on his face and his eyes flashing. She felt Sherlock's gaze on her, and saw him frown with disapproval.

Already irritated by his behaviour, she went outside to greet them.

"This is the Sergeant that's been sent to take care of her?" she heard him snap to Lestrade, who cast Sally an apologetic glance. She fumed and turned to face the detective. Sherlock did not look like he was in a good mood, which would make him even more insufferable than usual. If Lestrade couldn't tell him to back off, then Sally would do it for him.

"Look freak" she began angrily, but faltered momentarily at the look Sherlock gave her. It was a look of burning intensity and anger and yet there was some sort of new found gentleness in his eyes, which suddenly disappeared. Sally was sure she had imagined it, because all of a sudden his eyes filled once again with scorn, and he cast an impatient (almost longing?) look towards the hospital lounge. Sally supposed that he was eager to start interrogating the woman, and the thought made her mad.

"Be nice" she all but hissed at him, and was about to continue her sentence , but Sherlock simply threw her a look and swept past her into the room, dismissing all that she might have been about to say. Sally fumed at being ignored like this, but instead of telling Lestrade to get the freak out of here, she all but ran into the room to prevent the approaching disaster.

Irene had been looking down at the floor the whole time that Sally had been outside the room, but she looked up the second she heard Sherlock's footsteps. A smile broke out across her face, before suddenly being replaced by a look as if she were close to tears. Sherlock stared back at her, the intensity in his eyes suddenly a thousand times more noticeable, and for one (but seemingly longer) second there was absolute silence which not even Sally dared to disrupt.

A war was raging inside Sherlock and Irene. Both of them needed each other, needed the contact and the comfort and the assurance that only they could give one another, but both of them wanted to pretend otherwise. Not because they wanted to hide their feelings from each other (that boundary line had been crossed a _long_ time ago) but because there were people watching them, and neither wanted to appear weak or sentimental.

The tension in the room rose, with Irene and Sherlock staring intently at each other, trying to anticipate their next move. And then Irene suddenly blinked, breaking the eye contact, but looked back at Sherlock with all the desperate longing and fragility she currently felt.

At that second Sherlock decided to stop pretending to be detached and cold. Irene was standing there, about to be interrogated about her horrible experience, and the least he could do for her was comfort her.

His weaker side won.

And suddenly Sherlock crossed the room in one fluid motion, and before Sally even had time to blink, Irene was in his embrace, burying her face in the nape of his neck, while he gently hugged her and stroked her back. Neither of them spoke, but simply breathed deeply, relishing the feeling of finally being able to touch each other.

Lestrade was doing his best to be professional, but even he couldn't mask his interest at the situation. Sally didn't manage so well. Her eyes bugged out, her jaw dropped and she blinked slightly, making sure that the scene before her was really happening.

She didn't manage to get any words out, though her mind was struggling to make the connections. Irene seemed to know Sherlock, because Sally was slowly starting to get a glimpse of the woman behind the mask. And Sherlock…well the hug spoke for itself.

Sherlock was showing emotion, he wasn't restraining himself physically at all, and he was actually comforting Irene.

The fact that Sherlock was showing attachment so openly stunned her. So did the fact that he had even managed to form one.

She looked at Lestrade, who was still trying to mask his interest. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Did he know about this?

But then how could he not have told her? She was currently in charge of Irene's well-being, how could she not have known about this?

Sherlock gently withdrew from the embrace, but still looked at Irene with the same intensity. Their relationship was a real one, it wasn't just about the sex; there was feeling, intensity equality and respect added to the mix. But the physical part of their relationship was still a fairly big part, and had they not had an audience, Sherlock was sure that he would kiss Irene until she was utterly breathless.

Irene almost smiled as she saw desire very briefly flash through his blue grey eyes.

Almost.

A part of her was almost…apprehensive? About being kissed, about any sort of physical relationship at all.

It scared her because a physical relationship had never been anything strange to her, nothing she had ever had to really fear. It had been her profession for a very long time.

But now she had to admit that it was slowly starting to scare her slightly. She supposed it was because of her attack, and the fact that she had been sexually abused for the whole time she had been locked up in that cellar. It wasn't so much the physical aspect that she was now apprehensive about, but more the emotional. Since her rescue in Karachi, her physical relationship had been restricted only to Sherlock, but now all the people who had tortured her had corrupted that.

Sherlock seemed to notice the apprehension that flashed briefly in her eyes, the fear that corrupted the assurance that was always present. His own eyes flashed with anger, and for one millisecond his whole face became furious. Not at Irene, he couldn't be angry at her for this, ever, but for the horrible people that had made her scared.

Before he had met Irene, John or Mrs Hudson, he could have dismissed the feelings that were currently bubbling inside of him, but now protectiveness and rage and passion (and dare he say love?) made him want to hunt these people down and kill them.

Lestrade was slowly starting to get uncomfortable with the silence and looked at the pair almost hopefully, trying to read into their intensive gazes. They seemed to speak a language of their own, simply by looking into each other's eyes. He saw absolute fury suddenly flash across Sherlock's face, and for a second he wondered whether or not the detective was angry at Irene, but he saw her nod slightly, and Sherlock took a small step closer to her, his hand unconsciously going to hers and nodding, before he composed himself.

"Shall we start?" Lestrade asked after a while, when both he and Sally grew tired of practically being excluded from Sherlock's and Irene's (silent) conversation.

Sherlock looked at him for a second, his clear gaze going right through him. He looked at Irene for a second, and although neither of them spoke, he seemed to know what she would have said.

He nodded to Lestrade.

"Yes".

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**Thank you for reading and please review!**

**Laura xx**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello. I am very sorry for the long wait with this chapter. I was pretty much drowning in school work and got about 6 hours of sleep a night. **

**Thank god for coffee, huh?**

**Anyways, I finally wrote this chapter, and have already started writing the next one.**

**Also, I want to warn you about some OOCness. I know I always say that, but I am quite worried. I have been reading a lot of Doctor who fanfics today (Rose Tyler/Ten) and am really worried that I got Irene wrong and wrote Rose instead. I hope it won't be too noticeable.**

**Anyways, enjoy!**

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Sherlock and Irene sat down, Irene somewhat gingerly. Sherlock's arm was not around her, and he showed no signs of affection. If Sally hadn't seen the hug, she would have only assumed that Sherlock and Irene were friends, but not in any way romantically involved.

And yet they had to be romantically involved. Sherlock would never hug someone unless he completely cared for them. Sally had never even seen Sherlock hug John.

And there was something about the way the two of them sat, not touching, yet still close together and the energy between them. Sally wouldn't necessarily call it sexual tension, but there was definitely some sort of spark.

Lestrade cleared his throat then, taking out his notes and looking very slightly uncomfortable. There was something simply so strange about knowing that the victim they were interrogating was the only woman Sherlock had feelings for. He almost felt as if he were intruding. Or maybe it was just Sherlock's and Irene's skill to successfully blank everyone out.

It was a rather unusual situation though, this interrogation. A small part of Lestrade's mind reminded him that there was no such thing as an ordinary interrogation, but somehow this one still stood out. Maybe it was because he had gotten so used to working with Sherlock and having him present as the one mind that would always stay completely objective. But that had changed now. Now the interrogation and case involved him and his…well, his girlfriend. Of sorts, anyway.

Irene and Sherlock gazed at him, waiting for the promised questions. Lestrade cleared his throat again and looked at Irene. "Could you just briefly take us through the things that happened?" He said carefully, feeling Sherlock's sharp gaze on him.

Irene nodded. "I was just walking down the street near my house" she said. Her voice was fairly confident and not shaken, as if she was completely determined to detach herself from the situation.

"It was fairly deserted in the area, and there was no one to see anything. They grabbed me and forced me into the van and used chloroform on me right away, so I couldn't yell or cry out." She shivered slightly.

Lestrade nodded, glancing over his notes. He had taken notes of everything that Sherlock had told him, but he wanted to make sure that what Sherlock had said complied with Irene's version. He doubted that either of them would lie to cover up something, but the process was still necessary, especially since he needed to submit the report at Scotland Yard.

"Do you have any ideas why they took you?" he asked. Sherlock stiffened very slightly, but his face remained neutral.

Irene shrugged, knowing that she would need to be as truthful as possible without giving too much away. Lestrade had already gotten her real name from John, which put her in danger, plus he read John's blog so he could connect her to her previous life at any moment, if he was observant. That situation hadn't arisen yet however, and Irene knew that she could rely on Mycroft to clean up any messes, so currently she would have to skirt around the subject a bit.

"I'm guessing that Moriarty arranged it" she said carefully. "He wanted to get to Sherlock, and the most satisfying way to do that was through me."

Lestrade seemed fairly satisfied with that answer, because it was the same answer Sherlock had given hm. "Did you recognise any of your kidnappers?" he enquired and Irene shook her head.

"No" she said, now looking down. Her kidnapping from the streets was something she could talk about and detach herself from, but what had happened after, while she had been locked up in the cellar was something she didn't like mentioning. She desperately hoped Lestrade wouldn't ask her about it in detail, because she really didn't want to discuss it in front of everyone. Even Sherlock didn't really know the full details, although he knew more than anybody else.

"They were all strangers" she supplied. I didn't get to see their faces well when they took me, because of the drugs, but after, in the cellar…" she winced very slightly, and Sherlock's hand curled into a fist. Lestrade saw this as a sign to move on.

"And you are completely sure that it was Moriarty that arranged the kidnapping?" Lestrade said. That was one point he needed to be certain on. Sherlock was already very convinced, the major clues were there, and his brother seemed to believe him. But it was still a question that needed to be asked.

Irene nodded. "I'm certain" she said and shivered again. "There are plenty of organisations with the strength to kidnap me" she continued, "But Moriarty deliberately transported me illegally from New Zealand to London and made sure to dump me in an alley way in a place where he was certain that Sherlock would walk past and find me."

She paused to take a breath. "Sherlock has told me about him" she said after a while. "I did some research on him, and I recognised him. He introduced himself as well."

"And you saw him often?" Lestrade said. "He realised that in this case the context of 'you saw him often' pretty much meant 'how often did he assault you and hurt you?' but he was determined to make this process as easy as possible, for Sherlock and Irene's sake.

Irene nodded. "Yes. He was there a lot."

Lestrade nodded, and wrote something down. He was very glad that Irene was being so open about this. Sherlock had said she was the strongest woman he knew, which was very high praise coming from him, but Lestrade had been worried that this would be an extremely delicate subject and that Irene would have a lot of trouble talking about it. He could sense that she didn't want to talk about it, but that wasn't stopping her now.

She shivered again, and it finally got Sherlock's attention. He had assumed Irene was shivering from the fact that she had to recount her experience, but now he realised that she was probably cold.

"Are you cold?" he asked her quietly, and she nodded, but dismissed it immediately.

"It's nothing" she said, but her case was proven false when another shiver betrayed her.

Sherlock frowned and glared at Sally for a moment, as if he blamed her for the fact that Irene hadn't been given a blanket or a jumper.

He shrugged off his coat and handed it to her, which made Sally stare openly. This was Sherlock's beloved coat, and yet here he was, acting the gentlemen. It almost shocked her.

Irene accepted the coat with a smile, and Sherlock chuckled slightly when he saw her in it.

Lestrade looked up surprised. He knew that this situation wasn't just tough on Irene, but on Sherlock too, and the fact that he was laughing slightly surprised him. Irene wasn't sure what Sherlock found funny either, and raised her eyebrows.

"I'm just remembering the first time you wore that coat" he said quietly, but Sally and Lestrade were still able to hear. Their interest peaked, but neither Sherlock nor Irene cared to elaborate any further, although Irene laughed slightly as well.

Lestrade cleared his throat and started asking more questions, mostly about the time Irene had spent in the cellar. Irene took her time answering these questions, but she replied to Lestrade's enquiries all the same.

The questions' were slowly talking their toll on Sherlock though. He never asked anything, nor did he elaborate on anything Irene said, and Sally realised with something akin to wonder that he wasn't there to question Irene, but as moral support. Who would have thought _that_?

It was clear that the process was hard for Irene, but the same went for Sherlock. His eyes flashed with fury, and his hand curled and uncurled. His posture was rigid, his breathing was rather harsh and he unconsciously shifted closer to Irene during the interrogation.

After about half an hour of talking, Lestrade realised that the couple needed a break. Irene and Sherlock were getting more uncomfortable and edgier by the second.

He stood up and flexed his fingers. "I think we should take a small break." He said, and asked Sally to go with him, deciding that the two needed some time alone. Sally got up from her seat almost unwillingly, wanting to watch how Sherlock behaved, but knew she had no choice but to leave.

Lestrade and Sally walked away from the lounge and to the canteen, both asking for a coffee. Sally took that opportunity to turn on Lestrade.

"Why wasn't I told about this?" she demanded, her hands on her hips.

Lestrade raised his eyebrows, wondering what Sally was talking about.

"Oh" he said suddenly, as he realised that Irene was talking about Sherlock and Irene being a couple instead of the actual kidnapping.

"I didn't think it entirely necessary." He said simply shrugging, and checking to see if his espresso had been prepared yet.

Sally raised her eyebrows dubiously. Not necessary?

Lestrade sighed when he saw her expression. "Look" he said. "You only met Irene today, and I charged you with her for less than an hour. It didn't seem so significant at the time. Plus, I was short on time."

Sally sighed, and accepted this answer. She knew there was probably another reason - most likely the one that if she had known she would have stared at Irene and questioned her like crazy, not to mention that she would have formed (a possibly negative) opinion about her immediately.

She accepted the latte the cafeteria lady was holding out to her, and walked back to the interrogation room with Lestrade.

Sally couldn't really determine how she felt about Sherlock right now.

In her mind, he would always be the freak. He would always annoy her and irritate her and even frighten her with his apparent glee at the prospect of investigating a murder. But she realised now that there was a side to him which she had barely known as well. Besides being a cold and detached detective, he was also a man capable of feelings and affection.

He would always be the freak to her, but he had become just that little bit more human.

She smiled to herself slightly. Who would have thought that Sherlock would get a girlfriend?

She turned the corner, and was suddenly startled by the sight of Sherlock and Irene kissing. She froze in shock, and she was certain that Lestrade did too. He recovered first though, and led her away from the scene, deciding to give the two a little more privacy.

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**Hope you enjoyed. I am on holidays right now, and catching up on all sleep that I lost studying, but there should hopefully be another chapter up soon.**

**Please review! Thanks xxx**


	8. Chapter 8

**I am so sorry for the long delay with this story. I got really side tracked with my other stories (apparently writing 2 main stories at the same time is not a good idea…) and I focused a lot more on 'And then there were 3' and 'The private lives of us' instead. I apologise, especially to those who prefer this story over the other two.**

**Anyways, just to keep you informed: This is the second last chapter to this story. I am really sorry about how short it is, but I thought that this was a good place to stop.**

**Anyways, enjoy xxx**

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Sherlock and Irene had done their best to keep their composure during the interrogation, but after a while, even they couldn't keep it up for much longer. Both of them were extremely relieved when Lestrade decided that it was time for a break.

Their faces stayed calm and neutral while Lestrade and Sally left the office and they still stayed as calm and as composed as possible. There was a tangible tension in the air. Irene was not happy about what she had had to recount, and although she hadn't been too explicit, thanks to Lestrade's tactfulness, it had still been fairly horrifying, both for her and Sherlock.

Sherlock was currently trying to control his guilt and anger. Although Irene had already privately told him what had happened to her, hearing it all again in front of other people made him feel positively sick. He should have been able to protect her better.

Irene stayed silent, deciding that she should wait for Sherlock to speak first.

"I will catch him" he said finally after a brief silence. Irene could hear the fury he was trying to supress in his voice and the determination. Though she hadn't expected him to react any differently, it still scared her.

Irene shook her head once. "No." she told Sherlock. She knew that although he generally valued her opinion, he wouldn't really listen to her in this situation. But she could still try to somehow sway him.

"That's exactly what he wants you to do" she reminded him. "He could have just killed me if he felt betrayed by my actions and wanted revenge, but this is more about you than about me. You're doing precisely the thing he wants, and playing into his hands like a child."

Sherlock sighed. Irene had a good point, but it was a point that Sherlock had already thoroughly considered. He knew Moriarty, understood the way he functioned, at least to a certain extent. He would never call the consultant criminal predictable of course, because he was much like Irene in that sense. But his motives were more obvious, clearer, at least around Sherlock. Moriarty was dangerous, but what made him terrifying was that he acted like a spoilt child – he would do anything to amuse himself, and if it meant blowing up a few people on daily basis then he didn't care. When he didn't get what he wanted he threw tantrums, and provoked people to such an extent that they did exactly what he wanted.

Like puppets on a string.

Currently, Sherlock was acting the part of the puppet.

But he had considered this, and knew that he would only make the situation worse if he ended up not going after Moriarty. The criminal would only try to provoke Sherlock further, and if he didn't continue to somehow hurt Irene again, he could do the same to other people that Sherlock cared about: Lestrade, John, Mrs Hudson or Molly.

These were all people Moriarty could and would target, if Sherlock didn't do what he wanted.

No, Moriarty needed to die; it was the only way to ensure his friends' safety.

Sherlock sighed, and explained this to Irene. Not that he needed to, she knew very well what was at stake, but she also knew the dangers better than any other person.

She was unhappy with his decision, but she understood it, and decided that trying to sway Sherlock now was utterly useless.

The couple lapsed back into silence, staring at the wall. Sherlock was deep in thought, silently formulating possible plans to catch Moriarty, and then deleting each one in turn. Currently, he and the police force had no lead on Moriarty what so ever, and Sherlock had no idea what he should do. The criminal could hide himself well, if he wanted to, and not even Mycroft was able to determine a possible location.

Irene was quiet, understanding that Sherlock needed this time to think, and not willing to disturb him, although she craved his contact most at this moment.

She desperately didn't want him to go after Moriarty.

She understood that Moriarty was extremely dangerous and need to be eliminated, but why did Sherlock have to do that? She knew that Sherlock needed thrill and danger and adrenaline in his life; those were all distractions. It was how he functioned, and Moriarty was proving to be an excellent distraction. Of course Sherlock hated the man for what he had done to the people around him, especially Irene, but she knew that a tiny part of him needed all this. Trying to trace Moriarty, trying to figure out a plan to catch him, fool him and eventually stop him was exactly the sort of work that Sherlock thrived on. He knew the dangers well, but he was determined.

She sighed slightly and pulled up her knees, hugging them to her chest, wondering what she could do to prevent Sherlock from going. Drug him possibly, but she didn't really have a drug on hand, and she was sure that he had already considered it to be something that Irene would do to keep him in London. Given their history, he would never put it past her.

Her sigh seemed to attract Sherlock's attention, and he looked at her, concern prominent in his eyes. He realised that now, when they had privacy, he should have been focusing his attention on her, instead of retreating to his mind palace.

"Are you alright?" he asked her gently, and Irene nearly smiled at his behaviour. It was so very typical of him, to only notice other people after some time passed.

She nodded once, but her answer clearly didn't satisfy Sherlock.

"I'm sorry I couldn't protect you better" he admitted quietly, looking at her almost as if he expected her to be angry at him. She just shook her head. This wasn't Sherlock's fault; he had taken every precaution possible with her safety.

Sherlock was getting increasingly worried with her lack of speech, because Irene, like him, always wanted to have the last word. If she wasn't speaking, then she was clearly not okay, and he was determined to somehow crack her composure. She shouldn't be keeping things bottled up inside her.

"You don't have to act brave for me" he told her softly, looking into her eyes with his own piercing blue ones.

He saw the barrier break slightly, saw the ice melt and crack and disappear completely. Irene finally dropped the mask she had been so desperately hanging on to and leaned back into his arms, which were already waiting for her. Sherlock pulled her to him, his face in her hair, and her arms around his neck.

They stayed like that for a while, until Sherlock finally looked down at her, his own generally cold eyes suddenly gentle and full of emotion.

She barely saw him lean in, nor did she realise that she was edging even closer to him, but she must have been, because suddenly his lips were only a couple of inches away. She gulped slightly, but did not draw back. Sherlock's gaze stayed on her, making sure that she was okay with this. He wouldn't be surprised if she pulled away; he expected her to.

But she didn't, she closed her eyes and leant in closer, closing the distance between their lips.

They had kissed before of course, loads of times; it was nothing new for them. Their relationship had no physical boundaries.

But now it was different, because Irene felt uncertain. Not about her relationship with Sherlock, but after having been abused in that cellar, she had experienced the horrible and painful side to physical relationships.

For this reason, their kiss was slow and tentative. His lips brushed her, carefully, uncertainly, giving her space, and letting her choose just how far she wanted to go.

Irene wasn't sure just how long they were there, kissing, but after a while she finally drew back. She leant back into her original position in Sherlock's arms, staying silent. He didn't say anything either, but they knew that the most important things, their feelings and emotions, had been expressed through the kiss. They didn't need words.

They drew apart slightly when they heard footsteps, clearly Sally's and Lestrade. Sherlock smiled slightly when he noticed how loud and deliberate they were, and yet still very slow. Lestrade and Sally had most likely seen them kissing, and hadn't wanted to disturb them, and now they were discreetly creating as much noise as they could to signal their presence. Irene smiled too, also realising, and raised her eyebrows at Sherlock. He rolled his eyes in return.

Lestrade and Sally were quite close to the door now, but (in _their_ opinion) not close enough to be seen or overheard.

"I think they're finished" Sherlock suddenly heard Lestrade say in a relived tone. He glanced at Irene, who had clapped a hand over her mouth to cover her laughter.

"Thank goodness" Sally replied, and Sherlock closed his eyes, wondering at her stupidity. Unless she was being that loud deliberately, did she really think that he and Irene wouldn't overhear her?

Irene's shoulders were shaking slightly now as she tried to hold in her laughter. She had loosened up a lot, her face no longer detached, but genuine emotion present in her eyes.

She swallowed her laughter, wanting to hear how the conversation would continue without making it known that she was listening in. It worked.

"You know before, how Sherlock was laughing when he gave Irene his coat?" Sally said, and Lestrade nodded, interested.

"I wonder what the incident with the coat was?"

Even Sherlock smirked now, looking at Irene, who shook her head, an identical smirk on her face. Right now, Sherlock was very sure that they were both thinking the same thing.

_If you only knew…._

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**Thank you for reading. As I said, the next chapter will be the last, and will definitely be updated this week or next week.**

**Remember, reviewing motivates me a lot!**

**Laura xxx**


	9. Chapter 9

**Okay, so I lied.**

**But, in my defence, I HONESTLY thought this would be the last chapter, especially since the outline for it was so short. But then it just escalated and grew waaaaaay to long, so I divided it into two parts. Basically, this and the next chapter are the climatic point of this story, so I hope you enjoy :)**

**X**

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Time passed, and hours slowly melted into days.

Irene's fingers and arms were already fully healed, her burns had been treated and all lethal drugs were completely out of her system. Physically, she had recovered very well.

Mentally… she was on the mend. She had always been strong and she was still strong. She had been weakened by her experience, and physical aspects of a relationship still made her apprehensive, but compared to the first night and the first couple of days, she was a lot better.

Lestrade still conducted interrogations with her, expanding more on her experience in the cellar, and going into more detail. Irene was relieved that he only went as far as she felt able to though, and that he allowed her certain freedom.

Sherlock was always present during these interrogations, acting as her moral support. His arms were always ready for her, soothing touches and gestures could calm her during the most horrible bits and smirks and smiles could amuse her when she needed to laugh. She relied on him as support and he made her interrogations a lot easier.

Other than that though, Sherlock wasn't with her. Irene missed him, and found herself almost looking forward to the interrogations, because that was the only time Sherlock was actually present. Lestrade always gave them five minutes to themselves at the beginning, so they could catch up for a bit.

Sherlock left after the interrogation was over, kissing her goodbye gently, and then running off with Lestrade to Mycroft, trying to find a possible lead on Moriarty. There were clues now, and Sherlock spent most of his time trying to figure out the possible destinations the consulting criminal could be at.

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Irene was discharged after another week, and suddenly wondered where she would go. Baker Street was the logical option, but she was worried that she might not be welcome there. She didn't think Sherlock would mind (although suddenly coexisting with him under one roof was something slightly different than to what they were used to, but their relationship was strong enough for them to overcome that without a problem.)

John however, was the main obstacle. He had been in to visit once during her stay, and the two of them had exchanged a few words and smiles, but it was clear that he was somewhat uncomfortable in her presence. She supposed that he had considered her to be dead for the whole of the last year, and had spent that time angry at himself for lying to his friend about her (Sherlock had told her about the whole Witness protection scheme, and Irene found the idea quite amusing).

However, a lot of tension still existed between her and the ex-army doctor, and she knew he still saw her as the dominatrix she no longer was.

He hadn't liked her very much when they had met, but he had respected her a little bit at least. She had made quite a startling impression on him, knowing that he was more of a ladies man, and appearing naked had certainly ensured that she had his full attention. He might even have liked her a little bit at the beginning, but it had gone downhill from there.

Drugging Sherlock had been the first instance where any friendly feelings he might have had had gone out the window. Flirting with Sherlock and playing with his emotions had made John rather protective of his then fairly inexperienced friend and pretending to be dead and messing Sherlock up completely had been the turning point. John couldn't stand her after that, and certainly hated her for the whole situation on the jumbo jet. Basically, she wasn't in his good books.

She had changed a lot since then, and her relationship with Sherlock had ceased to be manipulation and a game of cat and mouse, but she knew that John still didn't view her as the woman she was now (or who she had really been all along, without realising it), but as the amoral dominatrix who would do absolutely anything to get what she wanted.

The relationship between her and John was still tense, and she was worried that he wouldn't want her at Baker Street.

Luckily for her, however, John had simply shrugged his shoulders and agreed, especially when he had seen Sherlock's expression and become scared of what would happen to him should he disagree. He was aware that Sherlock did really care for Irene, but he didn't exactly want to get caught up between their messed up relationship.

Over the few days that Irene moved into Baker Street however, John realised that Irene and Sherlock's relationship might not have been as messed up as he originally thought. The two respected each other; they even trusted each other, which came as a surprise. Sherlock was a lot gentler and kinder with Irene around, and caring to an extent that shocked both John and Mrs Hudson. Neither of them had known Sherlock to be affectionate in any sense, but there was no other word for it. He would hug Irene when there was no reason for it, kiss her forehead and smile at her, and John enjoyed observing the complete surrealism of it all.

Irene had changed too, John was pleased to note. Much like Sherlock she had become kinder and gentler, and not as manipulative and predator like. Especially after her attack, she showed vulnerability that hadn't been there before.

Over time, John talked to her, and got to know her, and was quite shocked that he actually really liked her. She was funny and witty, but not as ferocious, and their friendship developed to the point where Irene described it to be similar to a brother-sister relationship.

Mrs Hudson also had a soft spot for Irene, completely delighted that Sherlock had finally managed to find himself someone. Irene was frequently subjected to hugs and affectionate words, and was treated liked Mrs Hudson's own granddaughter.

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Sherlock was still absent quite often, working with Mycroft to track down Moriarty, and Irene didn't make much of a secret of the fact that she hoped Sherlock wouldn't find him. She wanted Sherlock to stay with her, she liked the life the two of them currently led, and she was terrified that Moriarty would ruin all of that.

Sherlock knew that he was playing right into Moriarty's hands, but his conviction that the criminal needed to be stopped was greater. Mycroft supported him in this.

So when Sherlock finally came back a week after Irene had moved into Baker Street with the news that he had a firm lead on Moriarty, Irene wasn't happy.

At all.

She had tried subtly to talk him out of it, but he was determined. Moriarty needed to be stopped, whatever the cost. Irene understood, and she knew very well that the cost could prove to be Sherlock's life.

He knew the same, as did Mycroft, but both of them didn't seem to care.

Unfortunately, Irene had absolutely no drugs on hand to stop Sherlock from leaving to track down Moriarty, and had no idea what to do. John seemed to take it in his stride, and although not happy that Sherlock was leaving to chase down the world's most dangerous criminal, he seemed reassured by knowing that Mycroft would take maximum security measures.

He didn't get that that meant nothing.

Sherlock feared Irene's reaction to the news, and was on high alert the whole evening, should she try something to get him to stay with her.

"Please" was all she had said, when he told her. "It's dangerous, and you know exactly how much."

He hadn't said anything to that, knowing that Irene spoke the truth.

She had gone to sleep early after drinking a cup of black tea, and Sherlock had stayed slightly suspicious, but was fairly sure that she wouldn't try anything. After all, she understood that Moriarty needed to be stopped better than any other person.

When he himself had gone to bed, with the intent to travel the next morning, he had discovered that Irene was not asleep.

Instead she had been waiting for him, and Sherlock had no idea what she was going to do when she stepped towards him. All he knew was that he leant in to hug her and then…

She was everywhere suddenly; her arms draped around his neck, her body pressed right up against his, while he half stood there, completely shell shocked.

He found himself kissing her back, not completely, but quick, desperate kisses in response to hers, while his arms almost unconsciously went to her back and into her hair, right before he realised what the two of them were doing, and what effect this could have on Irene. His mind suddenly kicked into action and Sherlock breathed out, breaking the kiss. His hands went to her wrists instead, gently but firmly pulling her hands away from the buttons on his shirt, and he pulled away from her.

He had been taken completely by surprise, he had definitely not expected Irene to try anything like _this_.

Her look almost haunted him.

Irene looked so hurt, like he had rejected her, like he didn't want her because other men had had her. His eyes widened in response to the way she stared at him, and he thought he saw her almost tear up.

She continued looking at him, mouth slightly open, breathing hard, like him.

"Are you sure?" he asked then, between heavy breaths. She nodded, almost stubbornly, and immediately leant in to kiss him, her hands going back to the task of getting his shirt unbuttoned and off. He didn't react for a second, kissing her back before he realised what he was doing and put his hands on her hips to gently push her off him.

"Irene" he said, a frown now marring his features, keeping hold of her, stopping her. He knew she didn't want him to leave, but he had not expected this.

A full blown seduction attempt? Irene had only gotten comfortable enough to actually let him kiss her a week ago, for god's sake, and now she decided that she was ready for _this_?

He realised she probably wasn't ready for it at all, and that it was simply the hurt and fear and anger manifesting itself to the point where she considered sex to be the solution and the only way to keep him with her. But she had been so hesitant the rest of the time, only allowing gentle touches and fleeting kisses, never giving any indication of wanting more for the time being. If she wasn't ready, then she shouldn't go on with this.

"_Irene_" he said again, his breathing still slightly heavy, but his voice calmer now. "You should think about this."

She shook her head, hands once again going to him, but he stopped her. "Are you sure?" he asked her again, his voice piercing, worried for her. One hand gently pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She nodded again, but realised that it wouldn't work on Sherlock.

"Yes" she breathed out finally, and she sounded fairly convinced, although it seemed to take her some effort to finally say it. Sherlock looked at her, trying to see how she felt beneath her expression, but she was still a mystery to him.

"_Please_ Sherlock" she finally managed, her breathing ragged. "I'm fine, please. You're leaving and if anything happens then - ". Her voice broke slightly, and Sherlock realised, she honestly thought he didn't want her. The realisation shocked him to the point where he ended up drawing Irene to him.

"You're sure?" he breathed into her ear, and she nodded once more, before finally kissing Sherlock again. This time, Sherlock let her, and lost himself as well.

He vaguely remembered the hurried frenzy to the bed, and relishing the feeling of her completely in his arms again, so small, but certainly not fragile. The need, desperation, passion and emotion finally broke through completely, tearing down every barrier, and Sherlock's mind blacked out.

Neither was sure if John or Mrs Hudson heard them and neither really cared. Both were completely lost in each other.

Much later, when they both lay on the bed panting, did rational thought kick in again.

Irene drew herself closer to Sherlock, until she arranged herself in a position where Sherlock's arms were fully around her, holding her next to him so that if he tried to get up, she would wake up. Sherlock smiled slightly, but he let her, and even pulled her to him. She fell into a half sleep with her arms half around his neck, and head on his chest. His fingers combed through her hair gently.

"Stay" was all she managed to breathe out, before her eyes closed, but Sherlock knew that she wasn't asleep. She was determined, waiting for his answer, and she wasn't going to rest or let herself relax in any way until he confirmed it.

"Please Sherlock" she whispered against his skin when he didn't say anything. Sherlock sighed slightly, but nodded.

"Yes" he said quietly, his eyes closed, but with no intention of going to sleep. Irene seemed satisfied.

"Thank you" she almost sighed and her breathing pattern slowed. Sherlock was sure she was a sleep, but he was wrong.

"I love you" she breathed sleepily, and Sherlock froze, completely for a second, before his muscles relaxed. His mind however, was still in complete shock.

Irene had now finally drifted off to sleep, but Sherlock just lay there, staring at her.

She _loved_ him.

To say it came as a complete surprise was not true, because she was the only one he had ever really shared a close relationship with, in any way, not just physical. He knew the same went for her (even with her profession and marriage), and so what they had was special. In a way, he had known it was love, but that word had never been spoken, neither of them had liked it. Maybe because it had meant that neither of them had had to face up to reality.

But now reality was staring him right in the face, at the worst possible time.

Sherlock groaned to himself inwardly, caught in this conflict of interest. He smirked briefly at how that would sound to John – the army doctor would more likely call it a conflict of life and death, but Sherlock thought that was a bit dramatic.

He had promised Irene (the woman who apparently loved him, and who he had to admit that he might love back) that he would stay, but his meaning of that word currently differed from hers. She desperately wanted him to stay with her in Baker Street, and not just for the night, but permanently. She didn't want him to go after Moriarty, and wanted to keep him by her side, which was probably the reason she had all but wrapped herself around him. He, in turn, knew that going after Moriarty was absolutely necessary, because otherwise he would only injure or kill others to provoke Sherlock. Moriarty had also made it clear that he wanted to be found now – the lead Sherlock had gotten was barely riddled with clues and a fairly obvious hint. If Moriarty didn't want to be found, then he could go straight back into hiding like he had when Lestrade had found Irene. Moriarty wanted to play, and that was the only reason he had decided to reveal himself. If he hadn't wanted Sherlock to come after him, he would have remained untraceable.

Sherlock had promised to stay, yes, but he only meant for the night. The next morning he would need to leave, and Irene knew that. Sherlock was scared that she had something else up her sleeve to keep him with her, because she had submitted far too easily. It may have just been the light drug he had slipped in her evening cup of tea, he supposed, but it had been a very weak dose, so that it wouldn't interfere with any of her other medication.

If her submission had anything to do with the fact that she trusted him to remain with her, then he felt horrible for what he was going to do. But he had made his plans clear, both to her and John.

For now however, he simply lay there, enjoying the fact that he had a few precious hours to simply spend holding Irene, stroking her hair, and appreciating the feeling that she was in his arms. Neither of them were people to really cuddle or be overly affectionate with each other, or at least, they certainly hadn't been before the attack. Now however, Sherlock felt better when she was in his arms, and he couldn't really see why he had found the idea so ridiculous before.

She looked so peaceful with her eyes closed and hair loose, and it was one of the most vulnerable times he had ever seen her. He had always liked to observe her when she slept, because she showed sides of herself he didn't always get to see. Neither of them always completely revealed each other, even after all this time, and Sherlock realised that neither of them would probably never completely drop their mask. They did trust each other, especially after all this, but keeping that one small part of themselves hidden from everyone else, even from themselves was simply part of who they were, and it would never really change.

He sighed, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand, and checking his watch. He only had a few hours left.

He felt her shiver suddenly, and realised she was cold, even though there was a sheet covering them. He smiled to himself suddenly, and skilfully untangled himself from her, without waking her. He picked his shirt up from the floor from where it had been discarded in the hurried haste (coincidentally it was Irene favourite purple one) and, feeling almost silly for such behaviour, he slipped it around her shoulders and slowly started buttoning it up.

He was aware that dressing Irene in his shirt wasn't just to keep her warm (he could simply have gotten her an extra blanket), but a stupidly sentimental move which he somehow couldn't bring himself to ignore. He wanted her to have that little piece of him when she woke up alone in the morning, wanted her to know that he didn't want to leave.

She mumbled slightly as he finished, but stayed asleep. Sherlock smiled at her, before he climbed back into bed.

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Before he left he sent a text to his brother.

_Put MAXIMUM surveillance on Baker Street. And maximum surveillance on Irene. – SH_

_You plan to go then? – MH _

_Yes. – SH._

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**The next and final chapter for this story is already written, and the update time depends entirely on the number of reviews I get.**

**Yeah...this trick worked quite well last time, and I thought it was a shame not to use it again.**

**So people, please review! This story has been an awesome journey for me, especially trying to write these two complex characters in such a situation, and I would really, **_**really**_** appreciate your thoughts and opinions. I know that there are a lot of people who favourited or alerted to this story (thank you, I'm touched) but lots that didn't bother to review, and I would love you to leave behind an opinion now, when this story is so close to ending.**

**Anyways, that's all from my side.**

**Laura xx**


	10. Chapter 10

**Thank you so much for all your fantastic reviews, they made me feel so happy.**

**I had some doubts about whether or not to split this chapter up again, because it really is very, very long. But then I thought that it would probably ruin it, and decided to keep it in one piece.**

**However, quite a lot happens in this chapter, so be prepared.**

**So, without further ado, enjoy!**

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When she woke, he wasn't there.

The first thing she felt when she rolled over was the absence of a warm body.

Her mind sleepily registered that Sherlock wasn't next to her and she rolled over in the bed, and she suddenly sat up in utter panic, completely awake. Her eyes scanned the room, and she suddenly noticed that the laptop bag which had been on the table was missing, as was his scarf and coat from where it had been hanging the previous night.

"No" she said desperately, hoping, _hoping_ that he had simply gotten up and was in the living room or arguing with Lestrade at New Scotland Yard or with Mycroft making security arrangements, _anywhere_ but where Moriarty was.

Her hands went through her hair, and she stared at the room, her eyes wide and her breathing suddenly heavy. She rolled over, desperate to find anything that could to make his presence known to her. She felt soft material rub agianst her skin and frowned, knowing that she had gone to sleep without any clothes.

She looked down and realised she was wearing Sherlock's purple shirt, the exact one he had worn the previous night.

"No" she said again, a choked whisper this time, as she scanned the floor. Her clothes were still lying by the bed, but his pants and jacket had been hung on the bed post. The buttons on the shirt were done up, this was a deliberate move on his part. Her heart picked up pace as she realised that Sherlock must have dressed her in his shirt right before he –

No, Sherlock _could_ still be here, he wouldn't leave her, not when she had desperately begged him not to. He had promised her that he would stay, hadn't he?

She threw the bed sheet off of her, not caring that she was naked, but frowned when a sheet of paper dropped to the floor. She picked it up, and tears suddenly sprang to her eyes.

_I'm sorry._

_I love you._

_SH_

Sherlock would never leave a note like that in other circumstances; it was far, far too sentimental for him. She stared at the writing, and her fingers went to trace the shape of it, thinking of his hand writing the words only hours before.

He loved her.

She wasn't sure if she had told him yesterday, she had been so tired and her brain mouth filter hadn't been working well, but if he had heard her…

He cared for her; he _admitted_ he loved her, if only on paper, but the note which would otherwise have made Irene so very happy was now the complete confirmation that Sherlock had indeed left.

"No" she cried again, and it was more of an agonised scream this time. She sprang out of bed and rushed into the living room, for once not caring at all about her appearance.

John looked up as she entered, and his look of shock at seeing her partially naked was soon replaced with a look of grim understanding when he realised that she knew.

For Irene, seeing John just sitting there was a shock. He was wearing his cream coloured jumper and jeans, his hair was brushed, and he was simply sitting comfortably on a chair with his notebook in his lap, typing. He looked completely unconcerned and unaffected, but by the expression on his face when he saw her, Irene knew that he was aware that Sherlock had gone.

John took in her expression right after he took in the fact that she was completely naked from the waist down, but he managed to keep from blushing when he saw her eyes.

The anger, fear and complete loss in them overwhelmed him for a second. Although the two of them had developed something akin to a friendship in the last few days, John knew that he would always partially see her as the dominatrix she had been when they had first met. Seeing so much emotion in her face, and knowing it was because she cared for Sherlock still somehow managed to surprise him.

"Irene" he said, as he stood up, realising just what effect Sherlock's absence could have on her. Her lips trembled as she looked at him, but he was amazed at her self-control. There were tears in her eyes, but she wasn't going to let them spill if she could help it.

"Is he gone?" was all she managed to say, in a low and pained voice, and all John could do was nod.

Her eyes closed for a second, and one tear managed to escape. Irene said nothing; she simply stared at the wall, fighting for control of her own body.

"He said he's sorry" John said carefully, not sure whether Irene would scream at him or fall apart. She did neither, although her eyes briefly went to him, her signal to him that she was listening.

"Mycroft has made careful security arrangements, and says that you should be safe. Sherlock was scared that they would use him leaving as a way to get to you, but you're perfectly safe as long as –" he cut off when Irene turned around and simply walked back to Sherlock's bedroom, closing the door behind her.

John stared at her retreating form for a second, and flinched slightly as he heard the door slam. He sighed. He supposed that Irene could no longer keep her composure. He wondered if there was something wrong with him – Irene was clearly very scared at what could happen to Sherlock if he went after Moriarty, and John…wasn't. At least not on the scale she seemed to be. After all, Sherlock hadn't been scared; his good byes hadn't been in any way overly emotional, and his demeanour hadn't changed in the slightest.

But now that he thought about it, there had been some sort of grim expression in his eyes, a grudging sort of acceptance.

John shook himself, he was being silly. Irene needed Sherlock, he was the only firm support she had gotten after her attack, and she had all but begged him not to leave. It wasn't surprising that she would get so worked up.

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Irene stayed in the bedroom for most of the day, and barely said anything. John had gone in once, simply to make sure that she was okay, and she had answered his questions, but had been completely emotionless. As soon as he went away she fell back into bed, curling up and not moving.

She stayed like that, barely talking or eating for the next few days. Both John and Mrs Hudson were worried about her, but neither of them could sway her. Aside from Sherlock, she was the most stubborn person John knew. He knew that the Irene from a year ago would have dealt with Sherlock's departure differently even if she had the same feelings for him as now – she would be composed and confident, making sure that she let no emotion show. But now, Sherlock's departure was the last thing she needed so soon after the attack, and she simply couldn't hold it together anymore.

Sherlock barely contacted any of them. He only texted John once, telling him that he had arrived and had a clear lead, and telling him to apologise to Irene. The text was from an unknown number, and John knew that this must have been a phone Sherlock had purchased only to send that certain text, so that nothing could be traced back to Baker Street by any part of Moriarty's web.

Mycroft visited every couple of days, to keep John updated on Sherlock's movements (he was tracing his little brother; _obviously_, he needed to know exactly where he was in case anything happened). Apparently, the lead Moriarty had chosen to leave hadn't been so simple after all, and Sherlock was currently chasing him across France.

Mycroft's other reason for visiting 221B Baker Street was also to see how Sherlock's absence was affecting Irene. He had surveillance on her of course, but he had better things to do than sit in his office watching CCTV to see how the ex-dominatrix was coping. He was interested however, because other than giving her new identification at the hospital, neither of them had spoken to one another, and Mycroft was curious to see how much of her character had changed. He still very much disliked her, and the trouble she had caused him in the past was not something he was willing to forget, but he couldn't do anything about her because Sherlock was clearly fiercely protective of her. Mycroft had no idea how their relationship had progressed (other than having known that she had manipulated Sherlock into having feelings for her at the beginning of their acquaintance) and if it was based on trust or equality (he highly doubted it).

He was shocked to see Irene during his first visit. She still carried herself with some confidence, but she had become so much more vulnerable. Her eyes were almost empty, and she was thinner and paler than usual. Clearly, she was terrified for Sherlock's well-being, and she wasn't hesitant about showing it. Mycroft had to admit that she was clever to have understood what was at stake.

John seemed completely oblivious to the risk factor Sherlock was subjecting himself to. Mycroft wasn't sure how the ex-army could _not_ see it – he had nearly been blown up by Moriarty in the past, and knew just how much damage Moriarty could do, and yet he seemed perfectly calm. He seemed to think that Sherlock wasn't in such huge danger, and he was underestimating the consultant criminal.

Irene knew exactly what dangers Moriarty represented, and the fear she had for Sherlock was exactly the same that Mycroft had. Mycroft however, was wise enough not to show it.

He knew that there was a good chance that Sherlock might not make it out of the encounter with Moriarty alive, and so did Irene. John apparently didn't, but Mycroft was glad, because it was one less person he had to deal with.

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Irene grew accustomed to Mycroft's visits, and simply ignored him, never having really liked the elder Holmes. She was grateful for the protection he was giving her, but knew very well that that was only because of family obligations – he would never give her this protection free willingly. In fact, if it wasn't for Sherlock, Irene felt that he would probably throw her right back to the lions, not at all caring what happened to her.

At the same time however, she was aware that he could simply have said no to Sherlock's request, and so a small part of her felt slightly indebted to him.

Even so, she didn't bother to conduct any sort of conversation with him, and she knew that Mycroft also preferred it this way. The only time they had anything close to interaction was at the beginning of Mycroft's visits, when he brought news of Sherlock. She generally stayed quiet during this time anyway, but Mycroft felt almost uncomfortable in her presence, knowing she was taking in every detail.

He picked the times he visited carefully, and generally tried to visit when Irene was asleep, but she immediately saw through his plans.

Luckily, the day that he had to deliver the worst news of all, John informed him that she was in bed, and fast asleep. Mycroft felt rather relived. He would prefer to tell John the news, and then have him relay it to her instead.

"Where's Sherlock?" John asked, almost eagerly as Mycroft entered, before he took in Mycroft's expression. As always, it was almost unreadable, but there was a small flicker of some sort of emotion in his eyes that hadn't been there before. John felt something drop in his stomach. Mycroft Holmes, who was always detached and cold, even more emotionless than Sherlock was, Mycroft Holmes who could probably have people killed off without a second thought, looked almost pained.

"What happened?" John asked, and suddenly there was alarm colouring his tone. The doubts he had had after seeing Irene's reaction to Sherlock's departure suddenly resurfaced, and he wondered whether what Sherlock had gotten himself into was as dangerous as Irene considered it to be after all.

"He found Moriarty" Mycroft said almost heavily, refusing to sit down in the chair, but nodding at John, his signal to let him sit down. John regarded the elder Holmes apprehensively, waiting for answers.

"Moriarty was waiting for Sherlock in Switzerland. Sherlock chased him across France and Italy before he caught up with him."

"And?" John asked, noting that Mycroft's tone hadn't changed. It was starting to scare him, and a part of him was glad that Irene was in the bedroom.

"I don't know the exact details of their confrontation." Mycroft admitted. "However, I am aware that though Moriarty had back up he could have called, he was alone. He and Sherlock engaged in a verbal confrontation, although both of them were armed. However, it seems that Moriarty's meeting point with Sherlock was strategic, and a trap."

John frowned, suddenly very worried. Mycroft had refused to refer to Sherlock in the present tense so far. Even though Mycroft hadn't said much, John was starting to get a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Their confrontation turned physical after words were no longer sufficient. Moriarty's chosen point was a cliff above a series of water falls. You may know them. They're called the Reichenbach Falls."

John's eyes widened. "So Sherlock and Moriarty…" he began, but trailed off, unsure of what to say. If it weren't for that bit of emotion in Mycroft's eyes or the very slight heaviness in his tone then John would have assumed that Sherlock was fine. But a water fall…_Jesus_.

He opened his mouth, but anything he might have wanted to say was lost when he hear the door to Sherlock's bedroom open. Both he and Mycroft turned around, Mycroft with slightly narrowed eyes, and John with a horrified expression on his face when he realised that Irene had probably heard everything.

Irene entered the living room and the pain and fear in her eyes was clear, but her face was smooth, almost expressionless. There was almost a dangerous quality about her now, and John realised that she was right before her breaking point. If Mycroft delivered the news that John was so terrified of, then Irene would completely fall apart. But right now she was controlled. It would take only one fatal blow to crack any self-control, but for now, she was composed.

John realised that Irene had been bracing herself for this news all along. Her fear and desperation when Sherlock had left was all because she realised that a confrontation with Moriarty could easily lead to Sherlock's death. Mycroft had too apparently, because although there was a very small difference in his demeanour, his eyes had had the same expression in them as Irene – like her, he had been readying himself for the worst.

John was shocked at how he could not have seen this coming.

"_What happened, Mr Holmes?"_ Irene asked, and her voice sounded like steel, icy and piercing. Mycroft visibly flinched as his eyes fell on her. She reminded him of the calm right before a storm.

"Both fell down the cliffs and into the water" he said, while John simply stared, completely shocked. His mind felt as if it had been wiped, and refused to think of the consequences. Sherlock was fine, he _had_ to be.

"Moriarty's body was recovered this morning. He is dead, the autopsy is undergoing, but the overall cause of death is not that hard to verify. DNA tests are being conducted, but we are fairly sure that this is James Moriarty and not some body double."

Irene's muscles tensed, but a small ray of hope flickered in her. Mycroft hadn't come to the point yet, it was almost as if he was doing this on purpose, which meant…

"And Sherlock?" she asked. Mycroft could see it in her eyes, the slow conviction, and realised that she had caught up with him. There was no point of dancing around the issue any longer.

"He is currently in a hospital near Bern. Although the fall could easily have killed him, he only has minor injuries: many cuts and bruises as well as a concussion, but no fractured or broken bones. When I last checked, he was asleep, but he should make a full recovery in due time."

Irene stayed still, but she could hear John exhale and sigh in relief.

"Sherlock's alive" he almost whispered, and felt almost silly that he had let himself be scared this way. But in hindsight, he should have seen this coming all along.

His eyes went immediately to Irene, to see how she was taking it. He had expected her composure to crack by now, not because of sorrow and loss, but because of joy, seeing that she had been so obviously preparing herself for the opposite result. To his surprise, her expression barely changed, but there was relief in her eyes.

She stared at Mycroft, taking him in, seeing how he was reacting. She was mad that he couldn't simply have stated that Sherlock had survived at the beginning of the conversation, but he supposed that he preferred winding people up like this.

Sherlock was alive.

Her composure cracked very slightly, and she felt extreme relief. However, she still needed one thing, or rather one person, and that person was Sherlock.

"Take me to him" she told Mycroft determinedly. Mycroft raised his eyebrows.

"He's in Switzerland" was his reply, and Irene's eyes narrowed, now annoyed with Mycroft's behaviour.

"I am aware. You're planning on going there yourself, and the car that brought you here is about to take you to the airport. I'm glad that you informed us about Sherlock's state before flying off, but now it seems that you will have to take me with you."

Mycroft frowned at her deduction; she was completely right, of course, he was on his way to see Sherlock in hospital and arrange to have him moved to England.

He looked at Irene, and she could see a clear 'no' written in his eyes. She sighed and walked back towards the bedroom, while John simply stared after her, utterly baffled. He had expected a completely different reaction from her, but right now she suddenly very much reminded him of the person she had been when they had first met. She showed barely any emotion, and he had no idea why. He supposed it was because she had some sort of a grudge against Mycroft, and was determined not to let him see her emotions, but she hadn't really bothered to cover up her feelings in the past week and a half…

Mycroft simply stared at her retreating from, confused. He had expected her to force him to take her with him, but she seemed to have simply submitted, walking back to Sherlock's room. He glanced at John, and saw that he was just as nonplussed.

Irene returned a few minutes later, and a small smile escaped her lips when she saw that both men were still staring at her. She felt a lot better now, like a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She was not an optimist, and had been so scared of what could happen to Sherlock, but now he was fine. Moriarty was dead, and he no longer posed a threat to her. She was free.

Mycroft suddenly saw that she was no longer dressed in sweats and Sherlock's shirt (clothes she seemed to have grown accustomed to wearing in his absence), but in jeans and a jumper and carrying a purse. He realised that she had counted on him to stay here while she got dressed, and was now completely prepared to depart.

Mycroft huffed in annoyance; it seemed as if he would have to take her with him. This was not part of the plan, but he supposed that he should have foreseen this.

He said nothing, but frowned. John stood up indignantly.

"Fine, you two head off without me."

Mycroft sighed and turned around, wondering just when this had turned into some sort of big reunion. He had been planning to go alone, but now it seemed as if he had two uninvited guests he needed to drag along. Although, he had to admit that he would much rather take John than Irene.

He was not stupid however, and he knew that no matter how many threats or excuses he made, Irene would still insist on going. No, out of the two, John would prove much easier to sway.

Irene simply shrugged her shoulders; she had no problem if John decided to come along as well.

John looked at Mycroft's face and sighed "Fine. I'll stay here, as long as you promise to keep me updated. But if you don't, then I'll come over as well."

Mycroft sighed in annoyance, but nodded, sealing his part of the deal. Irene smiled and hugged John goodbye, while Mycroft watched the sudden show of affection with surprise.

"Be careful" John told her with a small smile, hugging her back. "Oh, and don't kill him for leaving. I still need someone to pay half the rent for this flat."

Irene grinned, now feeling a lot more light-hearted. "I'm not going to make any promises but I'll try" she said, winking at the ex-army doctor before leaving with Mycroft. John just smiled and went down to tell Mrs Hudson the news.

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Irene stayed completely silent during the flight, which surprised Mycroft a great deal. He wasn't sure whether or not he preferred her silence. Although he was uncomfortable around her, he hated not knowing exactly how his brother's relationship with her worked, and was wondering whether or not he should ask her about it during the whole flight.

It appeared that she was oblivious to his inner struggle, but just as he was about to finally open his mouth and discuss the hated subject of _sentiment_, she got up to use the toilet. He swore he saw a small smile on her face as she did so, and realised that she knew what he wanted to discuss with her.

He frowned slightly, but decided to take the hint and simply drop the subject. From what he had seen, Sherlock very much cared for her, and there was nothing he could do about it. And if her feelings and emotional responses in the last week and a half had been anything to go by, then he could surmise that the affection Sherlock felt for her was not unrequited.

He wondered how he could have not noticed Sherlock's feelings for her in the past year, and wondered just when this situation had spiralled out of his control. He disliked not knowing every detail of Sherlock's life – he cared for his brother, but he did not like to show affection. The best way to show that he took some, if only minimal, interest in Sherlock's life and wanted to make sure that he was safe was surveillance cameras and having people describing what he was doing. He realised that his brother could keep a lot hidden from him if he truly wished, and perhaps it was better that way. Sherlock was a grown up, and was evidently making his own way in the world.

Perhaps it was time for Mycroft to let go.

He looked at Irene with interest when she came back, seeing her in a slightly different light. He still despised her of course, but now also viewed her as Sherlock's companion in life, and someone who was now taking care of his brother, taking on the role he had chosen so long ago. He was not a man who relinquished control easily or willingly, but he realised he may have to with Irene. Clearly, she and Sherlock connected on a level that Mycroft couldn't even begin to understand: Sherlock opened up to her, and while Mycroft knew a lot about his brother, it was information he had collected over a long time, while Sherlock voluntarily let Irene know things about himself, because he _trusted_ her, as absurd as that seemed.

Mycroft now almost looked at Irene with respect. She had achieved what no one else possibly could, but Mycroft realised that this must have been a slow process. Sherlock would certainly not have trusted her from the very beginning, and Mycroft supposed it would have taken a long time for a proper relationship to build up between them. This surprised him, as he had never considered Ms Adler or his brother as the types to commit to something and take things slowly.

Mycroft sighed to himself quietly. Irene was now the main aspect in Sherlock's life. He still wanted to know what Sherlock got up to, but he realised that the best way to do that would be to talk to his brother, instead of having every minute of his life detailed out for him.

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The first thing Sherlock felt when he woke up was the comforting feeling of his hand being held. He realised he quite liked the feeling. No one in the Holmes family had ever deemed it too necessary to show affection, and Sherlock couldn't remember the last time someone had just held his hand like that.

Even though his mind felt fuzzy and he was tired and slightly numb (from pain killers he suspected), he was able to make simple deductions: The nurses would never hold his hand, which meant it was someone he was close or familiar with.

Mycroft would never _ever_ hold his hand, so it wasn't him. John might, but only in very extreme cases, and it wasn't like Sherlock was dying, so it couldn't be him either. Molly…possibly, but she would probably be too shy to do so; Lestrade, definitely not. The only other person he was really close to was Irene.

He smiled for a second, certain it was her by his bedside, before his mind started to function properly and his eyes flew open in surprise.

_What was she doing here?_

She was staring straight ahead and hadn't noticed the fact that he had woken up yet. He observed her as best as he could, and was almost pained when he saw that her face was practically expressionless. His mind travelled back to their last encounter, and he suddenly realised that she must be furious with him for simply leaving her like that.

He closed his eyes again, realising just how much he had missed her. When he had felt the wind rushing through his hair as he fell from the cliff, pulling Moriarty down with him, and sensing the worst coming, he had only thought of her. And now she was here, and Sherlock had no idea what to do.

He kept his eyes closed, deciding he would rather not face up to emotions right now. He knew he had hurt Irene, and as necessary as leaving had been, he assumed she would have seen it as more of a betrayal.

His eyes opened once again in surprise when he felt her hit his arm lightly, and he finally stared her in the face. A sudden sense of calmness washed over him as he stared into her familiar blue eyes, and detected traces of warmth and emotion there.

"Your pulse is elevated, don't expect you can fool me" she said, and although her tone was cold, he swore he could detect a hint of amusement in it.

"Worth a try" he said almost tiredly, the numbness he had felt having disappeared. Instead, he felt the sudden pain shoot up in his arms and across his stomach and legs. He winced slightly, but kept his eyes fixed on Irene.

His gaze seemed to break through the careful mask she wore while looking at him, and he witnessed it suddenly crack and shatter. She bit her lip suddenly as it started trembling and her tears suddenly appeared in her eyes.

"You _idiot_" she said strongly, one tear escaping while she fought for control. She was somewhere between crying and laughing, and he understood it to be the relief and anger she had felt. He chuckled slightly.

"I know" he admitted, and heard her slight sob.

She said nothing then, but kept hold of his hand, and did not even attempt to mask her feelings. Both she and Sherlock knew that in their case emotions spoke more than words ever could.

Sherlock too, stayed silent, but took in every detail, committing her face to memory. Their situations were reversed, he noted, thinking how a few weeks ago, it had been him sitting by her bedside, while she had suffered.

"I'm sorry" he said at last, almost an hour later, when she was once again composed and he somewhat more lucid. She nodded; a sign that she understood his actions.

He didn't bother to add that going after Moriarty had been necessary, the both knew it. She didn't bother to talk about what might have happened had Sherlock not been so lucky, and neither did he. The situation could have ended horrifically, but it hadn't, and Sherlock doubted that either of them would ever mention this situation again. It was behind them now.

.

.

.

Everything returned to normal.

Funnily enough, Sherlock's and Irene's definition of normal had changed.

Sherlock had recovered from his injuries fairly quickly and had immediately insisted on travelling back to England. Mycroft had frowned and pursed his lips, believing that Sherlock was not fit to travel yet, but had eventually decided that Sherlock could decide for himself, seeing it was his life after all, and no longer Mycroft's to control.

Irene was still living at Baker Street, because she didn't feel like going back to New Zealand. Her kidnapping and Sherlock's mission to get Moriarty had had a profound effect on both of them, as well as on their relationship. They appreciated each other more, they trusted each other more, and not everything between them felt like a competition.

Because of that, they no longer felt the need to challenge each other continuously. Before the whole ordeal they could only spend a limited time with each other, because of their mutual need to outwit the other, but now they had changed, and their relationship became less unorthodox.

John decided that he didn't really mind having Irene move in too much, he rather enjoyed her company. She was still a complete puzzle to him, but he realised that Sherlock acted so much more human around her. The caring and gentle side that everyone had attempted (unsuccessfully) to bring out for so long finally emerged. Essentially, Sherlock's relationships to others remained the same, but he suddenly became easier to tolerate.

Mrs Hudson was thrilled to see Sherlock back safe, and to see Irene relieved and happy. Mycroft seemed to accept Irene, and demonstrated this by leaving her and Sherlock completely alone, which, compared to the problems he could stir up for both of them if he pleased, was the greatest gift he could possibly give them.

Irene and Sherlock had no idea where they would go from here. Obviously Irene would move out of Baker Street eventually, but since Moriarty was gone and Mycroft's men were successfully tracking down the rest of his criminal web, Irene was a lot safer. Both she and Sherlock were thinking about her moving closer to England. But, while the issue was on the table, there was no rush.

Neither of them knew what the future would hold, but for now the honestly didn't care. They had each other, and as cheesy as it sounded to them, they realised that that was truly all that mattered. Both of them had had a chance to observe the other completely stripped of confidence, and to get a better look at the emotions they had tried to keep hidden from each other before.

It contradicted everything they had said before, but emotions didn't make them weaker, instead they strengthened the bond the two of them shared.

And right now, that was perfect for both of them.

.

.

.

**Phew.**

**Well, what can I say? The end is upon us.**

**Thank you so much for sticking with me through this story. It's been fabulous and great fun to write, these two characters are simply brilliant. I loved putting the two of them in this situation, and although it was really hard at times, it was completely worth the effort.**

**Thank you to absolutely everyone who reviewed, alerted and favourited. I'm sure that without you and your encouragement this story would never have progressed as far as it did. Once again, thanks very much :)**

**I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I did.**

**Laura xxx**


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